I Wish I Was Your Brother
by Scribble2Much
Summary: The intensity of the close bond between the Winchester brothers inspires envy, awe, admiration, longing and even suspicion in outsiders. A series of stories told by individuals after unforgettable encounters with Sam and Dean.
1. Love Letter

**I Wish I Was Your Brother **

**Summary:** The intensity of the close bond between the Winchester brothers inspires envy, awe, admiration, longing and even suspicion in outsiders. A series of stories told by individuals after unforgettable encounters with Sam and Dean.

**A/N: **Since as Supernatural fans we're always talking about the bond between the brothers I thought it would be interesting to do some fics about how outsiders see the relationship between Sam and Dean. These stories will all be AU for the most part and they won't follow any kind of chronological order.

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**- ONE - **

**Love Letter **

Sometimes I feel like the best thing about my time at Stanford was being able to feast my eyes on Sam Winchester.

My best friend Deena always said I'd make a great stalker and with Sam I mastered the art of observing without being detected. Initially he seemed to have kept pretty much to himself and even when it seemed he started to make friends it appeared that he generally preferred his own company.

One thing's for sure, he didn't come to college for the social life and very early in our freshman year he established a disciplined schedule with everything revolving around academics. He liked a small quiet study hall at the south end of campus and like clockwork he was there every Monday, Wednesday and Friday; in by 5pm and out by 10.

His spot became my spot where I pretended to be busy with my own studies but mostly I just lurked and satisfied my insatiable desire to just look at him. I spent hours watching, wondering what exactly was beyond the smooth exterior. The soft voice, the impossibly innocent eyes, often hidden behind dark silky bangs, and the seemingly unflappable calm.

I found out soon enough.

The first thing that struck me, the day I saw him seated at his usual table, scribbling on a legal pad, was that whatever he was writing seemed to present a more emotional than academic challenge. He wrote a few lines stopped, sighed and then tore the paper from the pad and crumpled it.

He paused, took a deep breath like he was trying to steel himself, and then he started again. He wrote more slowly this time like he was choosing his words carefully, considering every syllable before committing it to paper.

He seemed to be making steady progress when he stopped writing, dropped the pen and closed his eyes for several seconds and almost seemed to be experiencing physical pain. Then, the second sheet of paper went the way of the first.

For a while it seemed like the third attempt was too much to contemplate. He sat still for several moments and although he was staring out the window near his table, I was pretty sure he wasn't seeing anything. His mind obviously wondered off for an extended period and when it came back to him, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a battered leather wallet and took out what I am sure was a picture.

No doubt the photo was of some girl he left behind and the separation was obviously driving him crazy. The envy that stabbed me was sharp enough to cause physical pain in my stomach and the disappointment that followed made my eyes sting with jealous tears. I bet she was gorgeous. Only an impossibly beautiful woman could cause such a well composed man such obvious discomfort.

The picture seemed to calm him and after a few moments of looking at it the wallet was put away in favour of the pen.

I thought attempt number three would at least make it into an envelope. He finished an entire page and then flipped the sheet over the pad and continued writing.

I figured Cruella – I was incapable of assigning anything but a derogatory moniker to my unknown rival – was in for some good reading when the letter landed in her mailbox.

But I spoke too quickly, and soon there was an almost wrenching sound as the sheets were ripped from the pad, balled and dropped on the table beside their ill-fated predecessors.

This was it. He stood and began tossing his books in his bag. He zipped up his knapsack, flung it over his shoulder and gathered his discarded papers. I watched hopefully and inwardly danced in silent celebration when the crumpled balls were tossed into a trash can right beside the huge industrial printer and photo copier that were set up in one corner of the study room.

I was insanely grateful that Sam liked this low traffic study area which was all but desserted by the time he left. Once he was gone, I waited a few moments and then retrieved the papers from the trash with little fear of being observed. I left the building quickly feeling the same anxiety that used to fill me when my friends and I stole candy from small shops for kicks. Part of me almost expected to be apprehended by a heavy hand dropping on my shoulder but I was free and clear in a matter of minutes and headed straight for my dorm.

In the privacy of my room, which was thankfully devoid of my roommate, I smoothed out the papers with trembling hands. I arranged them in what I figured was the order in which they were written and then plunged greedily into the private inner thoughts of Sam Winchester.

_Dear Dean _

_I owe you an apology for walking out on you the way I did. I never should have left without saying anything to you. But the truth is, I don't think I would ever have had the courage to leave if I'd had to actually look you in the face and say goodbye. You have to know that _ _

That was the end of that attempt but the few lines had my heart pounding so hard I was sure it was sending up my blood pressure.

Dean?

Cruella was a man?

Sam was gay?

My hands were shaking as I grabbed the second short letter hoping to find some answers.

_Dean, _

_It would be an understatement to say that you've been on my mind. The truth is I think about you constantly and if I'm not remembering something that you said or did, I'm wishing I could talk to you about something or wondering if you're alright. _

_I know you probably feel more betrayed by me than anything and trust me, the last thing I wanted to do was leave but __

But _what_, I wondered quickly reaching for the final letter. If Sam obviously felt so strongly about this Dean person what could have driven him away?

_Dean, _

_I've been meaning to call you since the day I left. In fact, I've dialled your number at least a hundred times but I keep chickening out because I don't know how I would even begin the conversation. I guess my biggest fear really is that you won't want to talk to me at all. _

_So, I'm doing this the old fashion way because I'm afraid if I try to talk none of this will come out right. And I think I trust myself to write what I can probably never bring myself to say. _

_Since you're not going to be able to kick my butt or roll your eyes at me when I say this, let me start by telling you how much I miss you and Dad. You might not believe this but sometimes it feels like there's not a minute that goes by without me thinking about the two of you, you especially to be honest. _

_There are so many times when I find myself in situations or I'll see or overhear something and I keep meaning to share it with you then it dawns on me that I don't really know when I'll get the chance to share anything with you again. Every time that happens it just crushes me inside. _

_Dean, I know I owe you an apology for leaving the way I did. After Dad and I had the grandmother of all fights I just didn't have the energy – physically or emotionally – to face you. My biggest fear was that if I actually had to say goodbye to your face I would never have the courage to walk away after that. _

_I was so hurt and angry when I spoke to Dad that I said things that I'll probably go to my grave regretting but most of them were true. The truth is, I don't want the life that he's mapped out for me, I want to make my own life. For the longest while I hoped and dreamed that somehow I would be able to literally escape from the destiny that he seemed to feel was set in stone and when the chance to go to Stanford came up I knew I had to take it because it was probably my only way out. _

_The only thing that made me think long and hard about passing up the chance to go to college was the fact that I knew if I decided to go that meant I would have to leave you. _

_Dean, that was like asking myself which arm, which leg or which eye I would rather do without. And separating from you has been the hardest thing I have ever done in my entire life. Not having my big brother beside me makes me feel so incomplete that sometimes I actually wonder if I made the best decision. _

_But deep down, I know I did because I followed my gut. I trusted myself and did what everything inside of me told me was right which is what you always taught me to do. _

_Dean, you raised me and you taught me to stand up for myself, to not be afraid and to not let fear control me. You taught me how to be a man. And now, if I'm ever truly going to be one then I actually have to learn to how to survive without having you to run to you. _

_Although you've been my physical and emotional bodyguard for my entire life I think the most important thing you've tried to teach me is how to stand on my own two feet. I really need your support and your understanding now because I have to prove to myself that I've truly learnt that lesson. I have to try to become the man you've spent my entire life teaching me to be. _

_Please give my love to Bobby. I'm mailing this to his place, since that's the only way I can be sure that you'll get it. Tell Dad that I wish him well. And please, please, please be careful. _

_Love, _

_Sammy. _

When I finished reading the letter I curled up on my bed, hugging my pillow as waves of emotions seemed to rock me. That night, I re-read Sam words several times revelling in the fluid expression of emotion, wishing that the man who was capable of such deep affection would direct even a fragment of it towards me.

I thought about my relationship with my only sibling, my big sister who had reached adulthood ahead of me and seemed to have become a stranger. We had always liked each other well enough I suppose, but somehow it never occurred to me to fight for our relationship when we started to drift. It had just seemed like the natural order of things.

Obviously separation, be it gradual or sudden, was not natural for the Winchesters judging from the way Sam was so obviously desperate to preserve the bond between him and Dean. Compared to the deep affection Sam obviously felt for his brother my sister and I seemed decidedly and disappointingly ordinary.

I lay in bed that night knowing I would never have the courage to actually approach Sam Winchester and I'd have to be content to just watch him from the shadows. I thought about inviting him out for a drink or asking him to help me with algebra but I knew each little scheme would be abandoned the moment I had to actually carry it out.

But I woke up the next morning resolved to do one thing, return his letter. After observing his anguish as he wrote I felt I owed him that much. I used an iron to try to take out the creases, stuck it in an envelope and waited near his dorm until both he and his roommate left out and then went inside and slipped it under his door.

I had written Sam's name on the front of the envelope and on the back I had scribbled a short note which read: _Please__ send this letter. If you feel this way about someone, then they deserve to know. _

THE END

**More to come soon...**


	2. Longing

**I Wish I Was Your Brother**

**A/N: ** I'm blown away at the response to the first fic in this series. I hope the second one is equally as engaging. Thanks to all of you who posted reviews or added the story to your favourites or put it on alert. Happy Reading.

**A/N:** To the World's Best Beta Ericka Jane, thanks for taking such good care of the babies.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Supernatural or any of the characters or trademarks. This is not for profit. This is just for fun.

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**- TWO -**

**Longing**

I was damn happy to be an only child until I met Dean Winchester.

All my life I revelled in the fact that I'd never had to bother with the hassle of sharing my toys, clothes or anything else, especially my parents' attention. The truth is I liked feeling like I was the centre of the universe and I didn't want any competition for that position.

The summer I turned 13, I realised I had it wrong. That was the summer that Dean Winchester and his little brother Sam breezed into town. It was three years ago but I remember it like it was yesterday.

Dean and Sam seemed to have fallen out of the sky. We saw them in church one Sunday but there wasn't much of a back-story about their arrival. Our local CNN, Sadie Milton who my mother totally disapproved of but always entertained, had a particularly difficult time scoring any worthwhile intel on the brothers.

Unfortunately for Sadie, and everyone else who was depending on her dispatches, the Winchesters were staying with Pastor Jim and the goodly minister didn't dish. All Sadie was able to scrounge up was that Dean was about 13 and Sam was 9. They were Pastor Jim's guests "for the time being" because their father, who was "an old friend" of the Pastor's had "a job that kept him on the road". Beyond that, the radar was blank.

On Sundays Dean would suffer through church looking bored and restless and usually, by about the third or fourth hymn, his little brother, who seemed to find organ music tranquilizing, would fall fast asleep snuggled up against him. Once Sam started resting on him, Dean would always wrap his arm protectively around his younger sibling's body and whenever Sam stirred in his sleep he would rub his back or stroke his hair until he settled down again.

Each week, I would watch fascinated and the quiet intimacy of those gestures always made my stomach flutter with weird sensations. There was something about the way those boys interacted that made it difficult for me to take my eyes off them once they were together.

But if Dean had a nurturing streak when it came to his little brother, he parked it at home when he was dealing with everyone else.

A long standing ritual at our church was that each week after Sunday service, the children of the devout were thrown together to amuse ourselves while our parents attended various meetings. For the most part, we would pass the time at what us teenagers called the 'recreational area,' which the younger ones were honest enough to admit was a glorified playground.

Once Dean joined the gang the scene at the recreational area changed entirely, and he immediately became the centre of attention. He had a spitfire temper, swore like a pirate, gave new meaning to the phrase 'loud and obnoxious,' and the other boys adored him for it. In no time flat, he had the boys gambling away their pocket money on cards, marbles, and any other games he could dream up to fleece them.

The girls, who were just as love struck, would watch the gambling and other forbidden activities in silent fascination, giggling like idiots whenever Dean so much as tossed a careless smile their way.

Already he was starting to develop a man's body with broad shoulders, hard abs and what looked like it would turn out to be a pretty well built chest. And he had this way of rolling his eyes, setting his jaw line or fixing you with a stare that made his face go from little boy cute to big boy handsome.

And for reasons I just couldn't understand, Dean made feel me strange. Sure I'd had crushes before but this felt different. I'd see the way Dean would swing his arm around Sam's shoulder as they walked away from the playground and I'd feel a tug in my stomach. I'd notice how Dean always gave his little brother his full attention turning away from everyone else around him as soon as Sam approached, and it would pull at my heartstrings. He also had this way of using one index finger to tuck Sam's bangs behind each ear and then tilt his chin upwards and smile at him. All these affectionate gestures would make my face flush involuntarily.

I was at a loss as to how a stranger who I knew only in passing was having this kind of effect on me. I just couldn't understand my involuntary reaction to watching Dean Winchester until the day the accident happened.

It was what had now become a typical Sunday afternoon and the gambling match was in full swing. As usual, Dean was cleaning up while the other boys were scratching their heads and looking bewildered. At the other side of the playground Sam was swinging on the jungle bars with a few of the younger kids when he slipped and plummeted. There was a scream of fright followed by a dull thud as his body hit the ground.

Dean was a good fifty feet away, with his back turned when his brother fell from the bars. But it was like the moment Sam lost his grip and screamed some kind of internal, big brother alarm went off and I swear to God before Sam even hit the ground Dean was running to his brother's side.

A bunch of us followed him just a few moments later but compared to Dean we took at least ten years to reach to Sam. By the time I got to the jungle bars Dean was on the ground with his brother laid out in his arms.

"What the hell happened?" he demanded of the two hapless little boys who had been playing with Sam.

"I dunno," one cried, clearly upset at the accusing tone. "He just fell."

There was no time for a full interrogation as Sam was gasping and his arms and legs were shaking. Certain it was some major medical emergency, all of us kids started to panic and everyone began talking and even yelling at the same time.

I saw blind fear on Dean's face when his brother started trembling in his arms and then in an instant it was gone. It was almost like he felt the fear but decided to kill it before it could grow.

"Shut up!" he shouted at all of us, keeping one hand underneath Sam's head and raising the other to ward us off, "Just back off and give him some air."

Shocked into silence, we all moved away but not so far that we couldn't see what was happening. Once Dean had got us all to shut up, it was like no one else existed apart from his brother.

"Sammy," he coaxed, raising his brother into a sitting position. "Sammy, listen to me, you need to breathe OK."

Dean used one hand to support Sam's back and then with the other he began gently rubbing Sam's chest. "It's OK Sammy, you've just had the wind knocked out of you that's all. It's no big deal, just breathe."

After a few moments Sam opened his eyes and began coughing. "There you go," Dean said softly, "That wasn't so hard."

And then the crying started.

Sam howled so loudly that I almost ran up to them to offer to help but I stayed still and kept my mouth shut, afraid Dean would starting yelling again.

Dean quickly pulled his little brother into his arms, held on tight and then began rocking him, soothingly. "It's OK Sammy, I got you," he said quietly, stroking Sam's hair and rubbing his back, "It's alright."

When the crying didn't stop after several moments, Dean gently eased his little brother away and raised Sam's chin slightly so he could look into his face. Tearfully, Sam glanced up at Dean and the look on Sam's face was enough to make my stomach quiver. His large eyes were fixed on Dean as if his big brother was the source of all solutions, and Dean would know exactly what to do to make him feel better.

Appearing to hear the unspoken message, Dean brought his hands to Sam's cheeks and used his thumbs to tenderly wipe away the tears.

"Tell me where it hurts," he said and his voice was so gentle I thought my heart would shatter.

"Dunno," Sam sniffed and shook his head.

The response appeared to relieve Dean somewhat and he calmly ran his hands over Sam's shoulders and arms, down his torso and then over his legs. When no contact seemed to cause any pain, he asked, "You can see me clearly right?"

Sam nodded and then Dean pulled him back into a hug and Sam rested his head on his brother's shoulder, hiccupping a bit, but for the most part, the tears seemed to be subsiding.

Dean held him until the crying stopped completely and then he gently eased him away again.

"Better?" Dean asked running his fingers through Sam's hair. When Sam nodded again, Dean sighed. He pressed his forehead against his brother's, closed his eyes and breathed deeply for a few moments. Again it was like he would only allow himself a minute to give in to his own emotions and within seconds he was back in control.

"You'll live you little drama queen," he said smiling playfully.

Sam, it seemed, still wanted to be held and he pushed back into his brother's arms and put his head back down on Dean's shoulder. Dean indulged him for several minutes and although the rest of us were only a short distance away, we may as well have been on another planet. If a gaping hole had opened up and swallowed every one of us on that playground neither of the Winchesters would have noticed.

Eventually, Sam yawned against Dean's chest, Dean asked if he was tired and Sam nodded. That was Dean's cue to help Sam to his feet and then get up.

"Come on," he said. "I'll take you back to the house so you can get a nap."

When they got up Dean looked casually over his shoulder at the rest of us. "Later," was all he said and the two of them left.

As I watched them go, the now familiar sensations flooded my stomach and that's when it hit me. The strange feeling that came over me every time I watched Dean Winchester with his brother was longing.

It was longing that I felt whenever I saw the unspoken love in even his most simple interactions with Sam.

And that day, on that playground I saw what it was really like when somebody was truly precious to someone else and trust me, not even my parents who always said I was their "princess" and their "darling", had ever held me and touched me with as much comfort and devotion as that.

I never saw Dean again. We were told that the boys' father came to get them and they left the same way they came, suddenly.

But after meeting the Winchesters, somehow, having all the toys didn't seem so special anymore and not having anyone to share anything with felt less like gain and more like loss.

And now when I'm crying over things I'd never dare tell Mom or Dad I find myself wishing for someone to hold me and say, "Tell me where it hurts."

I find myself longing.

THE END

**I hope you enjoyed it. There's more to come...**


	3. Fear of Flying

**I Wish I Was Your Brother **

**A/N: **Thanks, as always, to Ericka Jane, my virtual sounding board and second pair of eyes.

This is for all of you who encouraged me to continue with your reviews, alerts and favourites. I appreciate it more than you know.

This is also a little first aid for anyone suffering from the Season 6 Blues.

Now, let's fly the friendly skies. Happy reading...

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**-THREE-**

**Fear of Flying**

Since the plane was practically empty, I figured it would be a pretty uneventful flight; and then two outrageously gorgeous and clearly irritated male passengers showed up.

They barely managed to make it onto the flight before we closed the doors. Everything from their harried appearance, to their silent frowns said they'd been arguing before they came onboard. But as they headed straight for the back of the plane where I was stationed, it was all I could do not to whistle in appreciation. I tell you, the sweet sight of those two male beauties made all the caffeine I had consumed this morning in order to make it to work on time, worth it.

One was pretty tall and looked a little shy, with large innocent eyes and feathered brown hair that he was constantly tossing away from his face. The other one was rugged, with chiselled features and a hard glint in his eyes that made him seem just a little bit dangerous. Each was so compelling, for entirely different reasons, that a girl would have a tough job choosing between them. In the end, I suppose, it would depend on whether she was in the mood for a sweet time or a wild ride.

A quick glance at the diamond on my left ring finger reminded me that I was up for neither. And not for the first time, I felt a nervous twinge of apprehension when I considered that my wedding day was less than one month away. However, since I always made sure that nothing happening in my personal life affected my professional behaviour, I shook off the uneasy feeling, smiled brightly at the handsome strangers, and welcomed them abroad.

"Can I see your boarding pass?" I asked in my well-inculcated flight attendant voice.

'Dangerous' glanced around agitatedly while 'Sweet Eyes' began patting his shirt and pants pockets until he unearthed the tickets.

_Brothers,_I noted; seeing the same last name on both stubs. An extra portion of good looks certainly seemed to have been heaped on this family.

"Welcome aboard QuickAir, Mr. Winchester... Sam?" I looked at them quizzically. With a quick nod Sweet Eyes acknowledged me. "And..." I turned to Dangerous, "...Dean. I hope you both have a pleasant flight."

"Thank you very much," Sweet Eyes said quickly but Dangerous barely made eye contact.

"Your seats are way up front," I said and moved to escort them to the row specified on their tickets.

"If it's OK we'd like to sit at the back," Sweet Eyes said hurriedly.

"Oh, that's not a problem," I replied pointing to the second to last row. That was much easier for me since the last fifteen to twenty rows of the plane were empty. I could easily tend to these pretty boys without having to go back and forth too much.

"Your hand luggage goes in the overhead bins," I said gesturing towards the cabinets above their seats, "And please fasten your seatbelts as soon as you're seated; we're only a few minutes from take off."

"Thank you," again it was Sweet-eyed Sam. Dangerous Dean just glanced around fleetingly like he was mapping out an escape route to use before takeoff.

"Are you OK Mr. Winchester?" I asked.

"I'd be better off walking," he said dryly.

"Dean," Sweet Eyes reprimanded gently, "We'll be fine."

As soon as I ensured that my passengers were properly strapped in, I stepped back to finish setting up my station. From my work area, I couldn't help but overhear the Winchesters' conversation.

"You got damn nerve dragging me on this flight," Dangerous was saying. And oh sweet lord, his voice reflected his looks: deep, urgent, edgy.

In contrast Sweet Eyes sounded sensitive and almost docile, but something told me he was no pushover. "We don't have a choice Dean," his voice was gentle but firm, "We have to get to Florida before sundown or this whole thing won't work. And even with you driving like a maniac, it would take us at least two days by car."

"You _know_how I feel about flying, Sam," Dangerous was attempting to control his volume but he sounded mad as hell.

"I understand Dean, but we don't have another option."

"Well, give me that pill let me pop it before they lift this thing off the ground."

For an uncomfortable moment, there was silence.

"Ah... Dean," Sweet Eyes sounded like he knew he was in trouble, "I forgot to get the Xanax out of the first aid kit."

"What the hell? I'm supposed to fly cross-country sober?"

"Just trust me, OK? You'll be fine," Sweet Eyes sounded calm and protective.

"Like hell I will."

"Yes you will be because _I_ am _not_going to let _anything_ happen to you."

I was listening for the response from Dangerous when my co-worker Karyn came briskly towards me, briefly diverting my attention.

"Hey, I know you hate the back, you want to trade places before takeoff?" She offered.

And normally, I would have jumped at the chance to work the front of the plane, except now I was becoming intrigued by what the Winchesters were saying.

"Thanks," I said appreciatively, "But I'm good."

"Suit yourself," Karyn smiled then lifted my left hand, "I still can't get over this rock," she whispered wistfully, "It's the oldest cliché in the business, Flight Attendant snags Millionaire."

I had a better one: Flight Attendant faints from starvation due to crash diet to fit into size 2 dress for wedding to said Millionaire. Better still: Flight Attendant stays up all night crying after yet another fight with Millionaire, hence the need for the caffeine cocktail in order to face the day.

"I'm insanely jealous," Karyn went on, "I can't believe in three weeks you'll be a married woman."

And there it was again, but this time stronger, that pang of fear.

"Your prince will come," I put on my bright smile as I reassured her, "Until then, it's back to work." I gave her a playful push to start her moving back towards the front of the plane.

As I turned to walk back to my station the plane started pulling away from the terminal, and then heading slowly towards the runway. I quickly checked to make sure the overhead bin above the Winchesters had been properly closed. When the Captain gave instructions to fasten seatbelts and prepare for takeoff, Dangerous Dean looked like he was about to start hyperventilating. He swore a blue streak of curses, barely getting the words out because his chest was heaving so hard.

"Look, I'm right here, OK?" Sam said putting a comforting hand on his brother's arm. It was tossed off quickly and even as I passed in the aisle I could see the hot blush that came over Sweet Eyes' face at the spontaneous rejection.

Not wanting to miss any of the conversation, I sat down quickly and strapped myself in, straining to hear them over the roar of engine as we started taxiing down the runway.

"You _never_ let me be there for you," Sweet Eyes complained. He kept his voice low, but I could hear the anger and the hurt.

"_Sam,_I'm about to die and you're getting all emo on me?"

_My god!_ These two sounded like they needed couples therapy.

"Nothing's going to happen to you, you stupid jerk." Sweet Eye's protectiveness was showing again, even if it was laced with annoyance.

"Well, tell that to the heart attack I'm about to have."

"You'll be OK if you stop being an idiot and just calm down."

There was no response. Just laboured breathing that sounded like it was building up to a panic attack as the plane began to lift off.

"Listen to me Dean," Sweet Eyes' voice had lost all trace of irritation and was now coaxing, "You have to calm down and just breathe. Nothing's going to happen, just breathe easy."

More concerned than curious now, I waited until the plane started levelling off then I unlocked my seatbelt and stepped up to their seats.

"Is everything OK here?" I asked.

"We're fine," Sam didn't even look up at me. "Just breathe Dean," he said to his brother. "Everything's OK, just breathe in and out."

I noticed that this time it was Dean who grasped his brother's arm as he struggled to catch his breath. Without hesitation Sam reached over and covered Dean's clutching hand with his, the earlier slight clearly forgotten.

"Would you like some water?" I offered.

"Sure," again, Sam didn't take his eyes off his brother and only glanced up briefly when I brought the water. Seeing that neither of them had the use of both hands, I helped them out by opening the bottle. Sam took it from me and held it up for his brother to drink. As Dean sipped from the bottle Sam was holding they looked like two halves of a single being, moving fluidly like conjoined fraternal twins.

"More?" Sam asked and when Dean shook his head, Sam only broke contact momentarily to screw the cover back onto the bottle, and then reached for his brother's hand again.

Fascinated by their apparent mutual ease with touch, but not wanting to appear intrusive, I slipped silently back to my seat.

As soon as I was out of sight I could hear Sam chuckling to his brother, "When you're too distracted to flirt with a pretty woman I know you're really freaked out."

That got a snicker out of Dean, "I'm hurt bro, you make me sound so cheap," he said.

"You are," Sam teased. "You've come on to every waitress in every diner we've ever eaten in, every nurse at every hospital we've been to, not to mention the female cashiers at every gas station and convenience store across all fifty states."

"Not every one bro," Dean sounded like he was getting into the conversation. "Just the ones that were hot."

They giggled together but then the plane hit an air pocket and Dean started gasping again. But it seems Sweet Eyes was a sharp cookie, and he quickly picked up on what would divert his brother's attention.

"Let's keep talking," he urged gently.

"About what?"

"Anything, it doesn't matter. I'll ask you questions and you just answer. Just focus on me and what I'm saying."

"O.K," Dean agreed sounding like he was willing to try just about anything to make it through the flight.

"What's your favourite band?"

"Like you don't know that?"

"Just answer the question."

"Metallica."

"Favourite movie?"

"Scarface."

"Favourite actor?"

"Matt Damon."

"Lame."

"Hey, he kicks butt as Bourne."

"Favourite actress?"

"Meagan Fox."

"She can't act."

"Yeah, but she's hot."

I had to cover my mouth to keep from laughing out loud at the boyish banter; apart from being related, these boys clearly liked each other. I quietly grinned and giggled as the Q and A continued for a good ten minutes, and I heard the tension drain out of Dean's voice as Sam teased and laughed at each of his responses.

Then Sam said, "Favourite childhood memory?"

That one was met with silence and even from where I sat eavesdropping I could feel the light mood changing.

"Sorry," Sam said softly, sounding like he'd crossed some kind of line.

"No. It's OK," Dean said after appearing to consider it for a moment, "That one's easy. It was the day Mom and Dad brought you home from the hospital. I came into Mom's room when she was lying in bed feeding you. I climbed up onto the bed with her and when Dad came in and saw the three of us, he just stood there staring like he couldn't believe what he was seeing. He said he was the luckiest man alive."

"Wow," Sam whispered. "That's pretty amazing."

There was silence for a little while, then Dean said, "What's your favourite?"

"My tenth birthday," Sam said without hesitation, "When we were in Ohio for a few months. Dad had been gone for about a week and you took me to that state fair."

"Yeah that was a good day," Dean agreed, "I remember you pigged out on all that junk food."

"And you dragged me on that awful rollercoaster and all those scary rides."

"Hey you were ten; it was a coming of age thing."

"Yeah but I so scared I figured I'd be lucky to see eleven. I started shaking every time we joined a line for another ride."

"Well you hid it well, you little sneak. I thought you were having as much fun as me."

"Eventually I did because I kept watching you laughing and having such a good time, and I thought, 'if Dean's not scared then I don't have to be.' I can still remember looking at you and thinking that my big brother wasn't afraid of anything."

"And of course now you're wondering how I can be a complete wuss about flying, right?"

_Ouch!_I squirmed.

I couldn't see Dean's facial expression but his attempt to _sound_ nonchalant didn't quite manage to cover up what sounded like insecurity. Big Brother was afraid of getting knocked off his pedestal.

But Little Brother wasn't going there at all. "You're not a wuss, Dean," Sam said, and there was that patient, caring tone again, "What you have is a serious phobia."

"Pulling out the psycho-babble on me, College Boy?"

"Call it what you want. But I know you, and I figure if you have a phobia, something pretty serious must have caused it."

"O.K., time out! If I'm going to do the therapy thing then I at least want to be lying on a couch talking to a hot female shrink."

"What happened Dean?"

There was no response but that didn't faze little brother.

_"Tell me,"_ Sam said, and I had never heard two words spoken with such patience and compassion.

Those were the words I would have given anything to hear from my fiancé and so-called soul mate whenever I told him I needed to talk. But usually he would turn up the car radio, roll over in bed claiming to be tired, or roll his eyes, look pained and ask if it could wait.

Dangerous Dean didn't know how lucky he was to have someone who was not only willing to listen to him, but who actually wanted to hear what he had to say.

"Dean," Sam pressed when his brother refused to speak, "Talk to me."

_Oh god Dean, tell him,_I urged silently, wishing I could trade places and have sweet-eyed Sam listen to me pour out my heart. _Just let him in._

And although I knew it wasn't my silent efforts at persuasion but rather his brother's concern, for some reason I felt gratified when Dean began to spill it. From the very beginning he had struck me as a tough guy and tough guys don't generally do the talking thing. But I got the feeling that when his brother used that heartfelt tone he had difficulty holding out.

"I was about twelve years old, you were about eight and Dad came home one night frantic, and told me to pack. He didn't tell me anything else just that he was going to be gone and he didn't know how long, and he was sending us to Bobby's. He took us to an airport, handed us over to some stewardess and told me I was in charge. He said I was to make sure nothing happened to you and Bobby would be waiting at the airport when we landed."

"I don't remember any of this," Sam injected.

"And trust me, you're damn lucky you don't," Dean assured him, "You got on the flight that night and you were out like a light. I was up the whole time and, Sam; it was like hell was wreaking havoc. We flew through freaking thunderstorms and a whole other level of turbulence. People were screaming and freaking out and I thought we were gonna die. Dad had already started teaching me how to defend myself and how to protect you, but none of that was going to work up in mid-air. I was trapped and threatened, and there was nothing I could do. I was so scared Sammy, I thought the damn plane was gonna crash and I knew there wasn't anything I could do to protect you."

Protect_him?_ I couldn't believe it. That was what was on Dean's mind when he thought he was going to die? That he couldn't protect his brother? I would have been saying my prayers for the eternal salvation of my own soul, never mind my brother.

"Dean," now poor Sam's voice sounded shaky with emotion, "It was out of your hands. If anything had happened, it wouldn't have been your fault."

"That's not the way I see it, Sammy. I'm your big brother and it's always been my job to protect you. My watch is my watch."

_Wow._ At twelve Dean was that protective of his little brother? At twelve I would have given up my little sister to the Nazis for an extra bag of M&Ms.

"You know Dean, I'm not even going to argue with you about how pigheaded and stupid that is. All my life you've been pigheaded and stupid about protecting me, and that's why I've always felt safe. You always said you'd never let anything happen to me and every time I needed you, you were always there. And my big brother will always be the bravest person I know, and if you're afraid of one thing Dean, _just one thing_, can't you just let me be there for you? Can't you just let_ me_ make _you_feel safe for once?"

I didn't even realise my eyes were filling up until they brimmed over and the hot tears were running down my cheeks. I used one hand to cover my nose and mouth so they couldn't hear me sob or sniffle while I waited, anxiously for Dean's response.

"When did this happen?" he asked, voice raspy with emotion. "When did my little brother get so strong?"

"While you were raising me."

_Damn._

Now the tears were falling so fast that I had to be wiping my eyes with my hands and my stupid black mascara was smearing all over my fingertips. Quickly, I slipped into the nearest restroom, locked the door and then leaned my head against it and cried.

That was what I wanted, more than anything else. To have someone who would listen and more importantly, who would care. I wanted to be so secure about someone's love for me that I could tell them my fears and not worry about being ridiculed, or worst, loved less. I wanted someone to hold my hand and help me face whatever frightened me, and to help me find the strength I had inside. And, as I stood there crying with my head spinning from the damn starvation diet, I knew that someone was not the man I was about to marry in three weeks time.

I looked at my tearstained face in the mirror and wondered if I'd ever have the courage to call off the wedding. Then I thought about Dean and what he had been through today. And if he could face his fears then, God help me, I'd face mine.

The seatbelt sign flashed and the Captain announced that we should return to our seats and prepare for landing. I quickly washed my face and was about to leave the restroom when I stopped, pulled the engagement ring off my finger and slipped it into my jacket pocket.

I took a few seconds to compose myself and then I approached the Winchesters. "Excuse me," I said all nice and professional like I hadn't just spent the whole journey listening to their private business. "We'll be landing in about fifteen minutes; can I get you gentlemen anything?"

Dangerous Dean fixed me with a devastating smile, "That depends on your definition of 'anything'," he said with a raised eyebrow.

"Dean," Sam sounded a quiet warning.

But having long since developed my stock response to passenger flirtations, I kept my face straight and specified; "Coffee, juice or water."

And Dean was undaunted, "Surely, you can get a little more creative than that," he said, eyes flashing suggestively.

"Dean!" This time Sam elbowed his brother's chest and then, reflexively, Dean slapped back.

Professionalism was thrown out the window as I laughed out loudly at both big brother's gall and little brother's mortification. I felt genuine joy at what this exchange was telling me, we were still twenty thousand feet off the ground and Dean was doing fine.

He'd be O.K. and so would I.

"Please fasten your seatbelts gentlemen," I said giggling as I stepped away from them. "We're preparing to land."

"And you say _I_make _you_sound cheap?" I heard Sam marvelling as I sat down and strapped myself in.

"Hey, I just didn't want to jeopardise my world record," Dean countered.

"You know," Sam hit back, " you were a lot easier to manage when you were traumatised."

They kept it up right until the plane approached the airport for landing. Dean had a few anxious moments but he let his brother talk him through it and without actually seeing, I just knew Sam kept a protective hand on Dean's arm until we were safely on the ground.

The last thing I heard right after the click of loosening seatbelts was Dean exhaling loudly and saying a little hesitantly but sincerely, "Thanks for getting me through this."

Then came Sam's response, "Thanks for letting me."

By the time I got up they were already half way down the aisle. Dean didn't seem to be wasting any time getting off the plane.

"Thanks for everything boys," I said softly to their retreating backs and I kept watching until they were out of sight.

As soon as the few passengers on board had disembarked, Karyn came down to me.

"We got one night in Florida," she said all smiles and excitement. "And you've only got a few weeks left to party like a single woman so let's hit the clubs."

I blew out a breath and held up my ring less finger, "To tell you the truth Karyn, I'll probably be a single woman for a lot longer than three weeks."

Karyn looked at me quizzically.

"Do we need to talk?" she asked.

I felt a sense of gratitude that was almost overwhelming. Maybe I didn't have a caring fiancé or even a sweet-eyed little brother, but thank God for good friends.

"I'd like that," I said.

"Good. Let's go grab something to eat."

I turned to pack up my station when I heard Karyn gasp. "Oh no! The passengers who were sitting here, they left their tickets. They're not going to be able to take their return flight. I better get these to Customer Service now so they can page them before they leave the airport."

"You go on," I said. "I'll catch up with you."

Karyn hurried off, but I figured her mission was in vain. Somehow I didn't think the Winchesters had any use for their return tickets. I didn't think Sam Winchester would be taking his big brother on another plane anytime soon. I figured, when whatever business they had here in Florida was finished, Sam would find the slowest, calmest, smoothest bus to take his brother home.

**THE END**

**Thanks for reading. **

**There's more to come. Watch this space ...**


	4. Achilles Heel

**I Wish I Was Your Brother **

**A/N: **Missing scene from 1:20 Dead Man's Blood. John enters the motel room to find Sam and Dean sleeping.

* * *

**- FOUR - **

**Achilles Heel**

"**Achilles' heel – a deadly weakness, in spite of overall strength, that can potentially lead to downfall."**

**- Wikipedia **

There was work to be done, a battle to be fought, and evil forces to defeat, but still I took a few moments to watch Sam and Dean sleep.

I knew that once I woke them the hunt would resume and their endless war against evil would continue, so I let them sleep ... just a little while longer.

It's been so long since I've been with them or been there for them, but I take comfort in one simple fact: they have each other. That was the only reason I had been able to let go and leave them on their own.

They're good sons, brave soldiers, and strong men. I know I can trust them to prevent the shedding of innocent blood. More than that, I know I can trust them to take care of themselves and to watch out for one another. And I know, in spite of the endless onslaught of evil they face, each of them knows he's not alone.

They have each other.

It's what sets my mind at ease but it's also what scares me beyond belief.

Sam is brilliant, honest, and loyal, but deep down he feels incomplete without Dean standing behind him. Dean is Sam's sense of security and his source of inner strength.

Dean is fearless, selfless, and trustworthy, but without his little brother around to need him, he doubts his own self-worth. Sam is Dean's reason for being and the centre of his life.

"Protect Sam," had been my instructions to Dean. I didn't think he would make it his life's calling.

"Stay close to Dean," was my admonition to Sam. I never imagined he would have become practically incapable of separation.

I wanted them to be allies and now they're intuitively connected. I insisted on mutual loyalty and now there is complete devotion. I taught them trust which has gradually become dependence. And now, neither seems capable of being truly content if the other one isn't in close physical and emotional proximity.

Their mutual instinct to protect each other is now so powerful that it's become a defensive force in its own right. That much determination to defend anything can eventually lead to compromise when they can least afford it.

I have no doubt that my sons will fight, kill, and die for one another.

It's what sets my mind at ease; it's what scares me beyond belief.

They have each other.

They couldn't be safer... or more vulnerable.

**THE END**

**More to come...**


	5. Signed, Sealed, Delivered

**I Wish I Was Your Brother **

**A/N: **Although this story can stand on its own, it's actually part two to "Love Letter", the first story in this series.

Thanks again for all the reviews, alerts and favourites. You guys really make me feel special. I hope you continue to enjoy the series.

Happy New Year everyone and all the best for 2011!

* * *

**- FIVE -**

**Signed, Sealed, Delivered**

Now, I fully understand why the good Lord didn't bless me with children; he knew I would need all my strength to deal with Sam and Dean.

Their father was there to teach them to be men, good soldiers, and great hunters. But – like it or not – it was good ole, 'Uncle Bobby's' job to tend to their emotional needs. Although they'd both rather die than admit it, those two were as emotionally needy as they come, so somebody had to see to that side of things. And for as long as I could remember, that task fell to me.

John got to teach the endurance training, the straight shooting, and the weapons cleaning. Me? I got to nurse them through the tears they never admit they shed and the heartache they never admit they had. It wasn't always a pretty job but I never shrunk from it.

I guess that's why they always turned up here when their hearts needed tending. Oh they'd come with various other ailments and excuses, but nine times out of ten what needed fixing was always more emotional than physical. And rest assured, if one of those boys was getting all emotional, you'd generally find that the other one was the cause.

So when Dean appeared on my doorstep several months after Sam took off for Stanford without even so much as a kiss goodbye, I knew he wasn't there just to see me. I pretended to buy his story about needing to do some work on the Impala, and even made a show of fixing some invisible scratches on that near flawless car. Then, after a few days, I gave him Sam's letter.

"What the hell is this?" Dean asked when I passed the envelope to him one morning after he'd finished eating breakfast at my kitchen table.

"Well, from the looks of it, I'd say it's a letter from your brother."

"A letter?" Dean didn't even touch the envelope. "When did you get it?"

"I've had it for several weeks. I guess he sent it here because this is the closest thing you have to a fixed address."

"Why the hell is Sam writing to me?" Dean still wouldn't acknowledge the letter. "My number hasn't changed. If he has anything to say he can call me and talk instead of sending me a damn letter."

"Well, from what I've heard from you and your father and the kind of terms you all parted on, I think it's a good sign that Sam's communicating in any way, shape, or form."

"So you're taking his side?" Dean raised an eyebrow accusingly.

Knowing exactly how to neutralise him when he started to get unreasonable I said, "In all the years I've been going between you and your brother like some damn fraternal cupid have you ever known me to take sides?"

Dead silence.

Again, I shoved the envelope towards him.

"Now read the damn letter Dean."

"No!" he said, shoving it back. "I don't want to hear about how wonderful life is in sunny California. I don't want to hear about all the new friends he's hanging with at his fancy school and I sure as hell don't want to hear about how much he's enjoying himself now that he's finally gotten away from me and Dad."

"You think he went to Stanford to get away from you? You of all people? Dean, I would have thought you knew your brother better than that."

"I would have thought that too, Bobby. But Sammy left without even saying goodbye to me. I know he was mad as hell with Dad but for him to leave without saying goodbye to me, I think I deserve better than that."

There was so much pain in Dean's voice and my heart went out to him as it always did at times like this. As usual, he was trying to mask his hurt with rage and anger but I knew him too well to fall for that.

"You know," I said in an even-tempered, placating tone, "I had the joy of babysitting little Sam once when you and your Dad went on a hunt, and he was sick with flu and fever. You weren't gone for more than a few days but that boy cried for you. He wouldn't eat, he didn't want to take his medicine, and even when I was able to get him to take a nap he called out for you in his sleep. I knew he was never gonna get well until you were back. And when you came home you went straight to his room and he wouldn't let you leave his sight. I can still remember coming up to check on the two of you and you were asleep curled up so tight it looked like you were born together. That boy didn't run away from you Dean. If Sam felt like he needed some distance I know he had a very good reason."

"There's no good reason to walk out on your family, Bobby."

"Don't judge him until you hear what he has to say," I waved the letter in front him.

"If Sam has anything to say, he can say it to my face not in some stupid letter."

I sighed. This was going to be harder than I'd initially figured but I wasn't going to rest until Dean heard whatever his brother had to tell him.

From the time John Winchester introduced me to his two young boys, it hadn't taken me long to figure out that Sam and Dean were special. I never told anyone but myself but I considered it a privilege to have been able to see them grow up, and watch as the unique connection between them - which seemed to have been there from birth - evolved into an unshakable bond.

I'd seen that bond forged by a thousand sacrificial gestures. Like when Dean would push his plate with the last piece of meat on it towards Sam, not because he wasn't hungry, but because Dean would rather starve than know his little brother wasn't full. I'd seen that connection fortified by a million unspoken expressions of love like when Dean would play reckless and hurt himself and little Sam would cry, sometimes uncontrollably, like he was the one in pain. And as those boys grew into men, I had vowed to do whatever was in my power to safeguard that unbreakable link because, call me sentimental, I just figure that a love so deep should be preserved no matter what.

So now, I did what I had always done when one of them was being stubborn and unwilling to listen to the other's point of view. I went between them.

I opened the letter – silently praying I would be spared the humiliation of any graphic descriptions of co-ed antics – and I started reading it out loud.

"_Dean,"_ I read looking pointedly at him, _"I've been meaning to call you since the day I left. In fact, I've dialled your number at least a hundred times but I keep chickening out because I don't know how I would even begin the conversation. I guess my biggest fear really is that you won't want to talk to me at all. So, I'm doing this the old fashion way because I'm afraid if I try to talk none of this will come out right. And I think I trust myself to write what I can probably never bring myself to say."_

I stopped reading and looked Dean square in the face. "Does that explain why he decided to 'write a stupid letter' as you put it?"

Dean swallowed and looked down at the table before muttering, "I guess so."

Not the least bit sorry that I had him feeling ashamed for doubting his brother, I read on: _"Since you're not going to be able to kick my butt or roll your eyes at me when I say this, let me start by telling you how much I miss you and Dad. You might not believe this but sometimes it feels like there's not a minute that goes by without me thinking about the two of you, you especially, to be honest. There are so many times when I find myself in situations or I'll see or overhear something, and I keep meaning to share it with you, then it dawns on me that I don't really know when I'll get the chance to share anything with you again. Every time that happens it just crushes me inside."_

When I stopped again to look up at Dean his elbows were on the table, his hands had anchored his bowed head and his breathing sounded laboured.

"Sounds like he's real glad to have gotten away from you and John, doesn't it?"

"Bobby, please."

Undaunted, I continued; _"Dean, I know I owe you an apology for leaving the way I did. After Dad and I had the grandmother of all fights I just didn't have the energy – physically or emotionally – to face you. My biggest fear was that if I actually had to say goodbye to your face I would never have the courage to walk away after that."_

Again, I paused to address Dean but this time as I watched him rubbing his eyes and slowly shaking his head, I kept the sarcasm out of my tone.

"Do you understand now why he left the way he did?"

It seems I was managing to breach the legendary Winchester line of defence because he conceded enough to say: "He probably did the best thing for both of us. I don't know that I would have been able to stand it if I had to watch him walk away."

Satisfied that I – or rather Sam – was getting through to Dean, I went back to reading: _"I was so hurt and angry when I spoke to Dad that I said things that I'll probably go to my grave regretting but most of them were true. The truth is, I don't want the life that he's mapped out for me; I want to make my own life. For the longest while I hoped and dreamed that somehow I would be able to literally escape from the destiny that he seemed to feel was set in stone. When the chance to go to Stanford came up I knew I had to take it because it was probably my only way out. The only thing that made me think long and hard about passing up the chance to go to college was the fact that I knew if I decided to go, that meant I would have to leave you. Dean, that was like asking myself which arm, which leg, or which eye I would rather do without. And separating from you has been the hardest thing I have ever done in my entire life."_

This time I didn't stop for Dean but for me. I couldn't read anymore. This letter was something private from one brother to another. This was between Sam and Dean.

"Dean," I all but pleaded. "This ... this is personal. This is what your brother wants to say to you. I don't think he meant for it to be an open letter read by me or anyone else. You need to read this."

Dean looked up at me pleading with his eyes.

"Bobby ... I can't. Please, just read it for me."

And at that moment, I didn't see a well-trained hunter, an angry young man, or even an adult for that matter. I saw the little boy who I'd had to tell that it was OK to cry on Mother's Day. The little boy who, in spite of my interventions, had learned to put on a brave face when he was hurt or frightened. The little boy who would only ask for help if he had no other choice.

So again, I did what I'd always done: I gave him what he needed. I read on: _"Not having my big brother beside me makes me feel so incomplete that sometimes I actually wonder if I made the best decision. But deep down, I know I did because I followed my gut. I trusted myself and did what everything inside of me told me was right, which is what you always taught me to do. Dean, you raised me and you taught me to stand up for myself, to not be afraid and to not let fear control me. You taught me how to be a man. And now, if I'm ever truly going to be one then I actually have to learn to how to survive without having you to run to you."_

"Why?" Dean interrupted. "Why would he ever think he needed to stop coming to me?"

He was near breaking point, I could hear it. So I kept my voice gentle. "He has to prove it to himself Dean."

"Prove what?"

"That he can survive without you and I think you also need to see that you can survive without him. Maybe some time apart is the best thing for the two of you right now."

"How can it be when I miss him so much it hurts?"

"And it sounds like he's hurting too, Dean, but somehow I think you'll both be OK in a little while."

When Dean didn't say anything immediately, I picked up the reading: _"Although you've been my physical and emotional bodyguard for my entire life I think the most important thing you've tried to teach me is how to stand on my own two feet. I really need your support and your understanding now because I have to prove to myself that I've truly learnt that lesson. I have to try to become the man you've spent my entire life teaching me to be. Please give my love to Bobby. I'm mailing this to his place, since that's the only way I can be sure that you'll get it. Tell Dad that I wish him well. And please, please, please be careful. Love, Sammy."_

"Sammy?" Dean looked up suddenly, his eyes were shining. "He signed it Sammy?"

"See for yourself," I said as if it was no big deal and, _finally_, I was able to hand over the letter.

Dean took the sheets of legal paper and scanned them for the closing line. When he saw the words in Sam's own handwriting, he closed his eyes and only one very determined tear managed to escape and roll down his face.

"From the day he turned sixteen he's been trying to get me to stop calling him that. The little ingrate sat me down and gave me a lecture about him being far too mature for that childish nickname."

"A lecture which you of course disregarded," I smiled knowingly, sensing we were turning a corner.

"Completely," Dean admitted brushing the back of his hand across his face quickly. "I told him that he's always been and always will be my Sammy."

"And knowing your brother he was probably mad as hell because that wasn't in-keeping with his new found maturity."

"He pretended to hate it," Dean smiled at the memories. "But deep down, I think he understood that what I really wanted to say was that he could be grown up to everyone else, but he's always gonna be my baby brother. And now, after everything he's done to prove he's grown up including running off to the other side of the country, he signs his name Sammy."

"Yeah," I confirmed. "So there you have it in plain black and white, your little brother still thinks you're the most important person in the world."

I think that almost pushed him over the edge so I knew I needed to pull back now and give him some room to process the letter, and all its implications. I saw from the way he was sitting there gently running his fingertips over his eyes that I needed to leave him alone for a while.

Another unspoken understanding between me and these boys was that I never called them out for tears, so they would always feel free to cry. But as they grew older, if I sensed the dam was about to break, I'd give them space.

"Will you look at the time," I said getting up from the table suddenly. "I promised Old Thelma next door I'd come over and take a look at her sink this morning. Mind if I leave you alone for a bit?"

"No," Dean shook his head. The poor boy was obviously trying to stay 'composed' and the sooner I left the better. "Go right ahead."

"Good. No way I'm gonna make it safely in and out. She's bound to try to feed me and get me to look at pictures of her grand kids, so if I'm not back by noon will you come and get me?"

"I will, Bobby," he sounded choked up as hell, so I left quickly.

I barely managed to make it into the living room before I heard a muffled sob. I was so tempted to turn back and go to Dean but I knew as long as I was there, he would keep his emotions reigned in. And right now, he needed to just let them go. He's a tough one that Dean is, but the one person that seemed to be able to move him to tears was his little brother.

I made it out to the porch and then I exhaled deeply; taking a moment to steady myself. I loved John's boys like they were my own but at some level, I must confess, I envied them. I envied them that built-in bodyguard, best friend, and guardian angel they each had that they so casually referred to as "my brother". Sometimes I wondered if even they fully understood the height and depth of what they had in each other. Sometimes I wondered if it was as clear to them as it was to me.

I started towards Thelma's place and then I turned around, and quietly let myself back into the house. I went to my living room desk and dug a notepad out of the drawer. I dropped the pad on the desk and considered leaving a pen beside it, but I didn't want to make it look too obvious.

As I went back out the door and walked over to Thelma's, I hoped with all my heart that after I left, Dean would come out of the kitchen and see the notepaper. Because right now, when his heart was heavy with emotion, was probably the best time for him to write a reply.

**THE END**

**Thanks for reading. Keep watching this space ...**


	6. The Deep End

**I Wish I Was Your Brother **

**A/N: **Thanks, as always to the World's Best Beta, Ericka Jane.

This is for all of you who have been reading, reviewing, alerting and recommending this series. The feedback and encouragement means more than I can express and it always inspires me to continue.

* * *

**-Six-**

**The Deep End**

In my dreams I'm married to Dean Winchester and his little brother Sam is our beautiful, beloved son.

I met them when I had run from my shattered life and found a small apartment right beside theirs. It wasn't much, just a room in a slightly shabby but completely comfortable old building, in a sleepy backwoods town.

I would see them coming and going, Dean to work and Sam to school, and I don't think I'd ever seen two people more at ease with each other. They were always talking, laughing, or teasing, but even when they were silent they still seemed to be communicating.

Instantly attracted to this fraternal chemistry, I quickly introduced myself as their new neighbour and gave them an open invitation to drop by. At first they seemed to be keeping their distance, but I wore them down quickly with little neighbourly gestures like a cup of coffee here, and a tuna casserole there.

Eventually we started to have conversations and I think they both concluded that Hayley next door was O.K. The more I spoke to them, the more I put the pieces of the Winchester puzzle together. Dean had just turned nineteen - although he came across as much older - and he was responsible for his 14 year old brother. I found it fascinating to see Dean move seamlessly from parent to big brother to best friend as he interacted with Sam.

In contrast to his brash, outgoing big brother, Sam was sensitive and initially came across as shy. But once you passed his personal tests – and I got the feeling there were many of those on several levels –, he was charming, engaging, and a lot of fun to be around.

Strangely, although I liked them both as individuals, I absolutely loved them together. I was drawn to their easy familiarity and the way that practically everything about them telegraphed the wonders of a close bond between family. And nowhere was that bond more evident than in their conversations.

Sam in particular loved to talk. Since my bedroom bordered his, and neither he nor his brother was particularly soft spoken, I heard almost everything they said through the paper-thin walls. Sometimes I'd lay in bed for hours just listening to them talk to one another. And as I listened, I gradually got to know them.

Dean was cheeky and facetious but Sam was a by-the-book kinda guy. That became clear to me when they spoke about the brownies.

"These brownies are excellent," Dean said sounding like his mouth was full. "I think you should go out with – what did you say her name was again?"

"Marcie," Sam supplied without much enthusiasm.

"I think you should take Marcie out and see what else she can bake."

"I don't care how well she bakes Dean, she's not my type."

"Why?"

"Because it's like she's on this mission to go through every guy in the entire class."

"You're kidding?" Dean didn't sound like he necessarily thought that was a bad thing.

"No. Apparently it's my turn this week, hence the brownies. I only took them because I figured you'd like them but when it came to her other 'offerings,' it was thanks but no thanks."

"OK, Mr. Pure-As-Snow, you don't have to actually date her, but can't you at least string her along a little and get some more brownies?"

"Dean, I suggest you savour this batch."

Sometimes they'd fight. Like the night Dean came in just before dawn and Sam blew a gasket. No one was more than surprised than me when I jolted awake just after 5AM to hear the normally composed Sam Winchester yelling.

"Where the hell have you been Dean? I've been worried sick."

"Sorry, I kinda got caught up," Dean sounded so guilty that it didn't take a genius to figure out what had caught him.

"Couldn't you at least have called?" Sam wasn't letting up.

"Sorry, I was pretty busy," Dean sounded sheepish.

"Whoever she was she could have waited five damn minutes while you called to tell me you weren't coming home."

"Come on Sammy we were..."

"Look, I'm not trying to cramp your style, but if you're going to be out half the night with god knows who, then at least call so I'm not up worrying while you're off having a good time."

Was he jealous? I wondered. Did it upset him that his brother found someone else's company as compelling as his?

"You do realise," Dean said philosophically. "That I should have you on a curfew and not the other way around, right?"

"Dean!" Sam sounded like he was trying to make an effort to keep the annoyance in his voice but his brother was wearing him down.

"Tell you what," Dean seemed to be turning on the charm. "I'll make it up to you. We can spend the whole day at the library on Saturday, and then after that we can go to the book store. Whatever you want to do, geek-boy."

"Shut up you jerk," Sam's parting shot was punctuated with what sounded like a pillow connecting with Dean's head.

I loved the fights and always welcomed them since the boys generally tended to blow off stream pretty quickly, and didn't stay mad at each other too long. I also liked to hear all the different ways Sam would say his brother's name.

Sometimes it was "Dean!" clipped and stern when he was annoyed.

Other times he yelled, "DEAN!" sounding serious and demanding when he was outraged or angry.

There was also the exasperated and quizzical "_Dean?"_when his brother left him confused or exasperated.

Then there was the soft affectionate, "Dean," reflecting boundless trust and complete security.

But the absolute best talks were the ones they had whenever Sam had a bad dream. Sadly, Sam was afflicted by awful night terrors that often had him waking up gasping for breath or bursting into tears.

"Another nightmare?" Dean asked one night when Sam screamed himself awake, coughing and gasping.

"Yeah," Sam choked, trying to catch his breath.

"What was it about this time?" Dean asked, his voice was gentle with concern.

"I can't remember."

"Don't lie to me, Sammy. Was it about Mom?"

"No."

"Was it about the fire?"

"As usual."

"Who this time?"

There was a brief hesitation before Sam said, "You." He sounded so scared and sad. "It seemed so real Dean. God, it seemed so real."

The next sound was muffled sobbing quickly followed by Dean's voice, soft and soothing: "It's OK Sammy, I'm right here. You're not going to get rid of me that easy."

Next came soothing, hushing words until the sobbing stopped.

Then Dean said, "Lie down Sammy, see if you can go back to sleep."

I heard a long tired yawn, followed by an even more tired "Stay, please."

"Not going anywhere," Dean sounded like he was getting pretty sleepy himself.

"S'always better when you're here," Sam said and I'm pretty sure he was asleep before the words were out of his mouth.

"Always will be." No doubt, Dean joined him in dreamland in short order.

For months I listened, falling in love with both of them and wanting to be with each of them in entirely different ways. Soon, I started to imagine myself encased in that cocoon of closeness they shared.

All I ever wanted was a husband and a family. That's why I had gotten married just a few years after high school, but it had been such a bitterly disappointing experience. My husband, Roger, communicated most fluently with his fists. But each time he hurt me he would tearfully beg me to forgive him, and foolishly, I would. It wasn't until a particularly severe beating which caused me to lose our unborn child, that I realised he couldn't help himself, and the agony would never stop.

That's when I left and although Roger called often weeping and begging for yet another chance, I held my ground, refusing to go back.

And living beside the Winchesters, I started to dream about love and family again. I spent long hours contemplating the situation and it became clear that it was no co-incidence that I had moved in beside them.

Sam was still young in so many ways and he badly needed a mother's care and affection. And Dean may have thought it was cool to be busy sowing his wild oats, but what he really needed was a faithful, loving relationship with the right woman. Dean needed a wife, Sam needed a mother, and I needed a family. Obviously, it was ordained that our three lives become entwined.

And my resolve to bring us all together became even stronger after Sam got sick. I knew something was wrong when Dean came to my door with a very worried look on his face, asking if I had anything for a fever. It turned out Sam had a bad flu and Dean was worried sick because he had to go off to work. I could tell instantly that Dean was completely torn about leaving his little brother when he wasn't well, so I quickly volunteered to keep an eye on Sam, and insisted that Dean go to work.

"Don't worry about it," I reassured, shutting Dean up when he started to protest. "I'll come right over and stay so I'll be there if he needs anything."

"It's not just that," I could tell Dean wasn't totally comfortable with the idea. "I'm the only one he'll really let take care of him when he's feeling this bad. He gets kinda clingy."

"Trust me, I can handle a sick teenager," I said relishing the idea of a weak and feeble Sam needing me to comfort him.

I was sorely disappointed.

Just as I'd figure, Sam was absolutely adorable sick. He looked so helpless and vulnerable that it was all I could do to keep myself from taking him in my arms, and rocking him gently until he fell asleep. As he lay in bed with his damp bangs covering his closed eyes and obscuring his flushed face; it took everything out of me not to lean over, kiss his cheek and gently move the hair away.

But as bad as he was obviously feeling, he was still so polite and careful not to put me out of my way. I checked up on him, literally every hour and even if he was awake when I peaked in he didn't ask for anything unless I offered. So instead of really being with Sam, I ended up spending most of my time just sitting in the Winchester's living room reading.

To make matters worse, when Dean returned Sam abandoned all composure and clung to his brother like a needy child. In full Daddy mode, Dean got him to sit up and take his medicine and drink some juice. And then Sam seemed to liquefy in his brother's arms. He leaned his head against Dean's chest mumbling about how awful he felt. Without a second of hesitation, Dean coddled and babied him until the complaining stopped.

Couldn't Sam even have paid me the courtesy of collapsing in my arms so I could have held and soothed him? Was his big brother the only one he'd let love him through his illness and pain?

Watching them from just outside the room, I gripped the door handle to anchor myself. I knew if I let go I'd walk over and beg to be included in the circle of affection. But the circle had closed, leaving me beyond its boundary.

Eventually I stepped away from the door, not wanting them to catch me watching. Several minutes later Dean came out of the room and immediately went to the kitchen saying Sam wanted soup.

"I can make it," I volunteered hoping that would earn me a little more time with them.

"Thanks," Dean said appreciatively. "But it's tomato rice soup. He'll only eat it if I make it. It's a special recipe."

"Well, I'll leave you two alone then." I tried to sound casual but I knew they had no further use for me. Once again, big brother was the only one who could meet Sam's needs. "Tell Sam I hope he feels better."

"Hayley, thank you so much for watching him for me," Dean said and I could tell his gratitude was heartfelt.

"That's what neighbours are for, Dean." I said and left graciously.

But back in my own apartment I was forced to admit to myself that I didn't want to be a damn neighbour, I wanted to be more. There was no doubt that Dean was an incredible father to Sam but I also had something to offer to both of them, if only they could see it. I should have been there even now helping to nurse Sam back to health. With both Dean and I at his side, I'm sure he would get better faster. And what's more, I should have been there for Dean, ensuring that while he was busy being the caregiver, he too got looked after.

I thought long and hard about how much those two needed me and decided I just had to systematically ingratiate myself into their lives. I called everyday for almost a week to find out how Sam's recovery was progressing and then on the first Sunday after his illness, I paid them a late afternoon visit. I went armed with a thermos filled with hot coffee and a store bought apple pie, which I heated in the microwave and claimed was freshly baked.

When I dropped in Dean was heading out, but Sam was sitting at their small dining table with a pile of text books and a scattering of notepaper.

"I brought pie and coffee," I said trying to entice Dean to stay.

"Oh, you're such a sweetheart," he said pulling on his jacket. "I gotta go though, leave mine on the counter." Just before he sailed out he called back to Sam, "It's your turn to make dinner, surprise me."

Sam and I ended up having coffee and pie and then I listened while he read the history essay he had been working on. That led to a fascinating discussion about his favourite academic subjects and I sat there thinking how nice it would be if we spent every Sunday afternoon like this.

Looking to extend my visit, I asked him what he was planning to cook for Dean.

"The usual," he shrugged in a non-committal, fourteen-year-old way. "I'll just open a jar of sauce and do some spaghetti."

"Just like that?" I asked horrified. "That's not special. And your brother took such good care of you while you were sick. Let's make him a nice meal."

I went to back to my apartment for ingredients and supplies and taught Sam how to make spaghetti bolognaise from scratch. He was a quick study and we kept up an easy, pleasant conversation while we worked.

I deliberately dragged out the cooking because I just loved doing something fun with Sam. But, I also wanted Dan to come back and find us in the kitchen. I wanted to experience the thrill of having my husband walk in and see his wife and son cooking a special meal for him.

When Dean did appear, just as I was taking a final taste of the sauce, I felt like someone had handed me the keys to the kingdom of heaven. My heartbeat quickened and I could feel the heat rising in my face. A blew out hard trying not to be too overwhelmed by the powerful sense of elation that flooded my body.

Dean sniffed the air appreciatively, inhaling the fragrant aroma of Italian seasonings floating through the small apartment.

"Either Sammy learned to do something more than heat up sauce in the microwave or I have a new guardian angel," he said smiling at me.

Undone by his captivating smile, I struggled to catch my breath and barely managed to keep my voice steady as I said, "Spaghetti bolognaise, my mother's recipe."

"And," Sam chimed in mischievously. "She taught me how to make it, so you better be nice to me or you're back to microwave pasta sauce next time."

"Is that a threat?" Dean advanced on his brother, playfully shoving his shoulder.

"Yeah," Sam rejoined, shoving him right back. "And my pasta beats your mystery concoctions any day."

"Ungrateful brat," Dean grabbed Sam in a chokehold but rubbed his hair affectionately instead of strangling him. Sam laughed loudly and tried to elbow his way out of his brother's grasp.

They continued to tease each other effectively deflating my fantasy. The familiarity, the banter, the compelling sense of closeness, was still just between the two of them. In spite of my efforts, I was still outside that warm ring of affection.

I was invited to stay for dinner and after spending that evening with them, I knew that being on the fringes, watching the Winchesters was never going to be enough. Listening through the wall and wishing would no longer satisfy my needs. I wanted to be enveloped in that strong web of love. I had to be a part of that extraordinary bond they shared.

For several days I contemplated how to move things to another level. Eventually, I fell back on the world's oldest female strategy. The way to a man's heart wasn't really through his stomach and late one night, I knocked on Dean's door, determined to take the more direct route.

I wore a silky black dress not much more substantial than a nightgown and held two bottles of beer in my hand.

"In the mood for a drink?" I asked holding up the beer and smiling sweetly when a yawning Dean opened the door.

"Hayley," he rubbed his head tiredly and looked at his watch. "It's almost midnight."

"Yes," I tried to make my voice sound sultry. "But I feel like having a 'nightcap,' and I wondered if you'd like to join me."

Dean sized up the scene and appeared to shake off his drowsiness.

"Hey," he raised his hands as if to apprehend me. "This looks like you've got more than a drink in mind."

Buoyed that he was the one to cut to the chase, I stepped into the apartment, quickly rested the beer bottles on the nearby kitchen counter and then moved towards him.

"Well," I whispered in the seductive tones I heard women use on television. "Since we're both grownups, they're plenty things we can do at midnight."

I ran my fingers up the side of his neck, and then gently held his chin so I could bring my lips to his. Instinctively, he responded to the kiss but quickly pulled away.

"I don't fool around with married women, Hayley," he said stepping back from me.

"Well as far as I'm concerned I'm not one," I moved towards him, put both hands behind his neck and pulled his lips to mine again.

This time, it took less than a second for him yank his head away. Then he reached for my left hand and held it up in front of my face. "Then maybe you should stop wearing that."

I looked at the cheap gold overlay wedding band in disgust. At one time it had been the symbol of hope and promise. So much so that even when I fled, I couldn't bring myself to take it off. Now, it was hindering my progress as I pursued the destiny that awaited.

"Fine," I yanked the ring off and tossed it carelessly across the room. "Now, where were we?"

"I think you were leaving."

He walked to the still open door, giving me my cue to exit.

"Dean, I've been separated for months. My marriage is over."

"Then get a divorce."

"Give me a good reason to," I said slowly pulling down the flimsy left strap of my dress and tossing my hair in what I'm sure was an alluring way.

"Am I interrupting something?"

I spun around to see Sam coming into the living room, fixing me with a questioning look.

"Nothing at all," Dean said firmly. "Hayley was just leaving."

"Sam," I cringed inwardly, quickly trying to adjust my dress strap. "Dean and I were just..."

Sam folded his arms and hardened his eyes. "Goodbye, Hayley."

They may have been ten feet apart but the Winchesters were standing together and they wanted me out of their space. I turned and hurried back to my apartment leaving the beer and the failed seduction in my wake.

Safe in my own home I went straight to my room, flung myself face down the bed and pounded the lumpy mattress with my fists. But the tantrum was short lived as my attention was quickly diverted by the Winchesters who came into Sam's room to have a full review of the incident.

"That wasn't what it looked like, Sammy," Dean was trying to explain.

"I know," Sam said calmly. "I could hear your protests from in here so I came to rescue you."

That had Dean snickering, much to my complete mortification.

"Take my advice little brother; never get involved with a married woman."

"Speaking from experience?" Now Sam was giggling as well.

"No. The one thing no one can ever accuse Dean Winchester of is messing with anything that belongs to someone else."

"So what are you trying to say that even you have your standards?"

"Shut up," I could hear the smile in Dean's voice but he quickly got serious. "I mean it though, Sammy. No matter if they say they're married in name only or their husbands don't understand them, if they really feel that badly about it, they can get a divorce."

"I don't really have to worry about that at my age. But I hear you," Sam assured.

Dean exhaled loudly.

"Man," he breathed. "That _so_ came out of left field. What the hell was Hayley thinking?"

"Dude, I can't believe she took you completely by surprise. Have you seen the way she's been looking at you lately? It's like she wants to jump your bones. She's getting a little creepy if you ask me."

"No, Sam, what's creepy is the way she's been looking at you."

"Me?"

"Yeah," Dean said it as if it was the most obvious thing. "It's like if she had her way you'd be wearing diapers and she's be feeding you from a nipple bottle."

"Oh god, Dean. That image is gonna give me nightmares, man."

"You better quit with those bangs and those sad puppy eyes, because all you're getting are the old girls wanting to mother you."

"And I'm still doing better than you, Don Juan."

"Shut up."

I stormed out of my room, not wanting to hear anymore. It was bad enough to be left out but I couldn't stomach being the butt of their jokes. I couldn't get past Dean's disdain for married women. That was obviously what was coming between me and him and I decided, quickly, to remedy that situation.

Early the next morning I called Roger and said I had to see him. He willingly accepted the invitation to come to my new home so we could talk. The whole day, I was buzzing with excitement knowing that in a matter hours my marriage would be over, and then Dean, Sammy, and I could finally be together.

I dressed very carefully for the occasion selecting an almost sheer white cotton and lace dress that was reminiscent of a bride at a low budget, but sincere, wedding. When I opened the door for Roger he immediately assumed reconciliation was what I had in mind, and he advanced greedily. I managed to hold him off with an offer of whiskey and predictably, given the choice between alcohol and me, his beloved liquor won the day.

I poured him several glasses of his one true love, secretly adding a generous helping of night time cough syrup to each serving. It didn't take long for my potion to have the desired effect and soon he was feeling drowsy so I lovingly suggested he lie down on the couch. Once he was down for the count I went to kitchen, selected the appropriate implement and quickly did the deed.

Freedom was heady. So much so that I forgot to dispose of my weapon before I ran next door to Dean to tell him that the way was clear for us to be together.

"It's over, baby," I said tears of joy filling my eyes. "I'm finally free."

Dean looked me up and down, and his expression seemed to move from confusion to horror.

"Is that blood on your dress," he looked and sounded more appalled than pleased. "Hayley, what the hell have you done?"

"He's gone," I was so happy, I could hardly get the words out. "Now you, me, and Sammy can finally be a family."

A blood curdling scream rudely interrupted our romantic interlude. I turned around to see Roger at the Winchester's door, on his knees, clutching his stomach. He was injured, bloodied but stubbornly alive.

"Help," he gasped desperately. "Please."

"Damn it!" Dean swore and ran to grab a wash cloth out of the kitchen before rushing over to Roger. "What the hell happened?"

"Crazy witch tried to kill me," Roger puffed and panted sounding like he was at death's door.

As always, he was ruining everything. First he had the damn nerve to survive and now he had taken Dean's attention away from me, ruining the consummation of my declaration of love.

"Bastard," I screamed adjusting my grip on the knife. I raised the blade and lunged towards Roger determined to do a more efficient job this time. Dean dropped the towel and quickly grabbed my arms effectively preventing the knife from reaching its intended target.

Then two hands grab my waist and someone's foot connected hard with the back of my legs, trying to knock me off balance. Momentarily distracted from my struggle with Dean, I turned my head to see Sam behind me, holding me in complicated embrace.

At last I was between the Winchesters and not on the outside looking in. Finally, the both of them had their arms wrapped around me and I would no longer have to wish and want and imagine.

Savouring the moment, I closed my eyes and sighed. Dean managed to wrench the knife from me and tossed it across the room while Sammy wrestled my hands behind me to restrain my movement.

In the distance I could hear sirens and realised that spiteful ogre I had married must have called for help instead of staying on the floor, and dying like he was supposed to. Soon there was blaring noise and confusion as police officers entered the apartment with guns drawn.

To my eternal disappointment, Roger was bundled out of the house and I managed to hear something about an ambulance and paramedics. Sammy was still holding me when two police officers accosted me demanding to know my name, and loudly asking all kinds of questions.

Sammy released me and I immediately faced him, gently bringing my hands to his face. At last I was able to run my fingers through his wonderful hair and push the unruly bangs out of his eyes.

"Sweetheart," I pleaded. "Tell these men who I am."

"Don't touch him," Dean pulled me from Sammy, and when I turned on Dean I saw the fire in his eyes.

Daddy was clearly jealous that our son was getting all the attention. I had some making up to do to keep the peace in my home.

"Darling," this time I reached for Dean, only to find Sam stepping protectively between us; his expression wavering between pity and disgust.

"What exactly is going on here?" One of the officers was asking.

"That man attacked me," I shrilled pointing to where Roger had lain on the floor. "I had to defend myself or he would have hurt me, my husband, and my son. Dean," I begged in exasperation. "Please just tell them the truth."

Instinctively, Dean reached out and ushered Sam to his side and out of my reach. Then, he addressed the policemen.

"Officers," he said stoically. "I'm Dean Winchester and this is my little brother Sam. This woman is Hayley Miller, our neighbour."

"She's not your wife?" the policeman sounded confused.

"No sir," Dean shook his head.

"Dean?" I screamed bursting into tears at his denial. "That's a lie and you know it."

"Is she your mother?" the other police officer asked Sam.

"No," Sam said emphatically.

"Sam!" I screamed, weeping in devastation. "Sam, honey, please tell them the truth."

Dean stepped up again. "Officers, the truth is, she's our neighbour. And honestly? I think she's gone off the deep end."

**THE END**

**Thanks for reading! Stay tuned for more ...**


	7. Support System

**I Wish I Was Your Brother **

**A/N: **Thanks to my trusty, dependable, Beta, Ericka Jane.

* * *

**-SEVEN-**

**Support System**

The tall fellow with the unruly hair who kept visiting Jessica Moore's grave caused me a great deal of concern.

In all the years I'd been caretaker at Celestial Gardens Memorial Park, I had seen the bereaved in many colours, shapes, and sizes and this boy definitely worried me.

I called him the Lonely Mourner. He started showing up at the graveyard – sorry, 'Memorial Park' – right after that young girl was buried. Didn't take a genius to figure out she must have been his lady friend because he came every day with a single red rose, and sat cross legged on the grass as close as possible to her headstone. You know as well as I do that us men don't get too bent out a shape over anything platonic. No, the way he turned up here every day looking so vacant and shattered, I guess it was plenty serious between him and that girl.

Jessica Moore's final resting place was in a small alcove right outside my little Caretaker's office on the lonely, south side of the Park. Through the windows by my desk I had a clear view of everyone who visited her grave, and the few nearby it. A heavy dark tint on the large glass panes allowed me to watch without being observed. If I pulled my windows slightly, I could hear practically everything that was said by anyone who visited the graves in that secluded area.

I generally saw a very different side of people when they came to visit a burial place. In my time, I've seen countless people cry, but some would also talk, laugh and heck, some would even sing – sometimes badly. But the ones that always bothered me were the ones who were all stone-faced and stoic and didn't say a thing.

My Young Friend was one of those.

For at least one week straight he just sat here looking at that headstone, not uttering one single word. And take it from someone who knows, a man who can't find an outlet for his grief is a ticking time bomb.

You see I've been there, hurting so badly you wish you could die and completely unable to find words to express that inner agony. Sad to say, that even if I had managed to find the words there hadn't been anyone there to hear them. So it all stayed bottled up until I couldn't keep it in any longer.

Yes, I've been through grief. I've been through it all alone and it damn near killed me. I hoped with all my heart that this poor soul wasn't alone too, because from where I sat he wasn't going to get over this on his own. If my own terrible experience was anything to go by, any day now, I expected that young man to explode.

As it turns out, I wasn't the only one who was worried 'cause about a week into his period of grieving, someone came after him. The second fellow didn't really bear any great resemblance to My Young Friend, apart from the same pale skin and light brown hair. But there was something about their body language that told me this was his brother. The visitor walked up to My Mourner and squatted down beside him on the grass. And when he started to speak, I quietly opened my window so I could hear what he had to say.

"No offence, little brother, but your hang out spot sucks."

My Mourner didn't even turn around to look at his visitor. "Leave me alone, Dean," was all he said.

"I will," Big Brother said. "As soon as you start acting normal again but right now, you're kinda freaking me out."

"Jess is dead, Dean. What do you want me to do? Pretend like everything's alright?"

"I'm not asking you to do that, Sam."

"Then what do you want?"

"Well for one thing, I'd like to know why you're treating me like I'm the bastard child your best friend and your wife had behind your back."

"It's always about you, isn't it? How _you_feel, what _you_think is best, what _you_ think I should do. It's always _you_."

"It's fine if you want to lash out at me, Sam, I get it. I get how hard this is for you but you're starting to lose it, bro and it's scaring me O.K. I can't just sit here and let you go off the deep end like this. Whatever is happening, whatever you're feeling, you gotta let me help you get through this."

Now, My Mourner finally turned around to look at his brother. "Haven't you done enough?" he asked accusingly.

"Meaning what?"

"I wanted to help her, Dean. I was going to get her out. But you came barrelling in and pulled me out before I even had a chance."

"_Chance?"_Big Brother said incredulously. "The whole damn building was on fire and you wanted 'a chance' to stay in it? Are you really dumb enough to think I would have left you in there?"

"That should have been _my_choice!" My Mourner got to his feet and began gesticulating frantically. "What gave you the right to decide for me?"

"There was nothing you could do, Sam." Now Big Brother was standing as well and right up in his little brother's face.

"Because you wouldn't let me go! You dragged me away before I could save her. God damn you, Dean, I begged you to let me go to her and you made me leave her there to die!"

Now they were squaring off, face to face, and even from where I stood the rage was palpable.

_It's just the grief talking._I wanted to assure Big Brother. _He's got a lot of anger and he's gotta find somewhere to put it._

But the argument was already heating up and Big Brother was losing patience fast.

"There's no nice way to say this Sam, but Jess was as good as dead already."

"No! You were just jealous because you figured if I went and got her, I was saying that maybe I'd rather die saving her than live with you!"

"That's _way_ outta line even for a moron like you. What was I supposed to do, Sam? Leave you there for a live cremation?"

"_Sometimes I wish you did!"_

Seems like that was the last straw. Big Brother bawled his fist and swung out, hitting My Mourner across the face with enough force to toss his head violently to one side. The blow rocked My Young Friend but he didn't go down. Instead, his hands flew to his face covering the spot where his brother's punch had connected.

Retaliation came real quick. Little Brother hit back, going for Big Brother's stomach. The return punch hit its mark and nearly had Big Brother doubling over. No doubt fuelled by his anger and pain, My Mourner tried to land another blow, this time to his brother's face, but Big Brother caught his arm and spun him around. He pinned My Mourner's arm behind his back and held him in what looked like a very painful position.

I stood there by my window wondering if I'd have to go break up a graveside brawl, but I didn't move. As the father of two boys I knew that sometimes, when the fighting gets physical, you don't intervene right away. Sometimes, a man just has to get some things out of his system, so you let a few punches fly so everyone can blow off a little steam.

I was ready to intervene if blood started to flow, but I soon saw that interference was unnecessary. Little Brother managed to wrench out of the grip but kept his hands to himself. He turned back on his Big Brother gasping heavily but his hands remained at his side.

"You ungrateful bastard," Big Brother spat, shoving My Mourner for good measure. "You can mourn for your girlfriend all you want but don't you ever, ever look me in the face and ask me why I saved your life. I'm your brother, you idiot, what the hell did you expect me to do? You were in a burning house!"

My Young Friend turned away and covered his face with his hands. It's like his legs gave out on him because he dropped down to his knees right on the grass beside his girlfriend's headstone. He sat back against that engraved slab of granite, put his head down on his knees and so help me God, he started crying.

And he didn't just cry, he bawled with loud desperate sobs that only the truly broken-hearted could ever really understand. It's a sound no human being alive can stand to hear.

A short distance away, his brother watched. I'm sure he was downright horrified at the crumbling that was taking place right before him. I wondered if he was tempted to just turn and run, and leave all that howling and despair behind.

_Please don't leave._I begged in silent desperation. _He needs you now more than he's ever needed anyone in his life._

But if I thought Big Brother was going to hightail it out of the graveyard, then I had another guess coming. He moved quickly towards the headstone and sat beside My Mourner.

_He needs you to hold him_. I wanted to say. _He needs you to hold him, and he doesn't know how to ask because nobody teaches a man how to do that._

Even if no one had taught My Mourner how to ask for what he needed, it seems his Big Brother could hear the silent pleas in all those tears. He gently lifted his little brother's head from his knees and pulled his bawling sibling towards him. My poor, grief-stricken Mourner needed little encouragement to lay his head on his brother's shoulder. The way he seemed to fit right into his big brother's arms told me that this was a place he not only felt comfortable, but also safe. Even though My Young Friend was bigger and taller, he tucked right in to Big Brother's embrace in a way that said he'd never outgrow it.

My Mourner cried and shook so hard, it appeared it was only his brother's arms that were holding him together. Had this breakdown happened on one of the days when My Friend had been by himself then he probably would have fallen apart completely. But lucky for him, his brother was here, and from what I could see there was no way My Mourner was gonna fall to pieces on Big Brother's watch.

Big Brother held on tight and just allowed My Friend to cry out all his anger, frustration, and heartache. Something about the way he did it told me that this wasn't the first time Big Brother had had to issue this kind of emotional first aid. No, by the way he held and stilled his little brother, it seemed that he had plenty of experience in quelling the anxieties of his sibling.

It's always a tricky one when men have to mourn. Lord knows when my first born son Jimmy was taken by a drunk driver before he even saw his eighteenth birthday, my heart all but stopped beating. But as a man, I had to be strong for my wife and the rest of my kids because, that's what fathers and husbands do.

Sometimes it seemed that the only thing that was there for me was the corner store whiskey, which I'd drink practically every night while the whole house was asleep. I'd sit there in the dark and drink myself to a place where it just didn't hurt anymore. And whenever the sadness and misery got so bad I couldn't bear it, I'd lock myself in the bathroom, stand under the shower, and cry.

Guess we men are not supposed to admit this but even once, I would have liked to have had someone there for me when I was crying. Just someone to listen while I tried to convey my inexpressible pain at the loss of one of the brightest lights in my life. It took me a long time to admit it to myself, but when the tears came, what I really wanted was for someone to hold me.

I had been foolish, keeping my pain to myself and ignoring the anger that had built up inside me. Between the liquor and the rage, one day it all just exploded and I ended up lashing out at the very people I had tried so hard to protect. I put them through so much hell, physically and emotionally, that it took years to repair the damage and rebuild the love and trust.

I looked at the devastated young man weeping in my graveyard, and prayed that it would be different for him. I prayed that grief wouldn't destroy his life the way it had almost wrecked mine. Something told me that the critical difference would be that man sitting there holding him, like he'd been doing it since he was born.

_Alright, __Big Brother._ I advised silently as my heart filled with wonder and just the slightest bit of envy. _You let him cry. Sometimes, a man just needs to cry._

Then it seems it dawned on My Mourner that he'd been sobbing like a two-year-old and he pulled back from his brother all wet-eyed and red-faced.

"I'm sorry, Dean. I didn't..."

"Don't, Sam. I'm your big brother. Whatever you need, it's okay."

"I know you don't do touchy-feely."

"I'll do whatever you need, whatever makes you feel better."

They sat side-by-side against the gravestone so close it was like they were glued together. My Mourner appeared limp with exhaustion and just let his head fall on his brother's chest. Big Brother kept a supportive arm around him.

Their voices got softer, so much so that I had to struggle to hear the conversation.

"It hurts, Dean. I never thought anything could ever make me feel this bad."

"It's going to get better, Sammy. I promise. I know you don't feel like it will, but it always does."

"I feel like I didn't do enough to save her."

"Sam, I was there. I saw Jess and I saw that fire, and there was nothing you could have done. You have to accept that because I'm not going to let you keep blaming yourself."

"I'm sorry, Dean."

"I know you are."

"I didn't mean to blame you. I just don't know what to do with all this anger."

"Believe me, I understand. But it's going to get better. You just need to ride it out. I'm right here with you. If you wanna talk, I'll listen and if you need to scream or to cry, that's O.K. too."

"I can't keep coming here. Every time I see her grave it hits me all over again."

"Then maybe you don't need to come back, not until you can handle it."

"I need to say goodbye now, once and for all. But I feel like I can't leave here until I'm ready to accept that I'll never see Jess again."

"Then stay as long as you need to, Sammy. I'll stay with you."

They stayed for hours and so did I, silently watching and listening. I sat there with them thinking about my own grief and pain and how I had dealt with it in totally unhealthy ways. How different could things have been if I'd had someone to help me cope with the loss? Someone who could have pulled me back from the edge, or picked me up when I fell so far and hard.

After a long while My Mourner looked his brother in the face and said, "I'm ready."

Big Brother stood first and then helped My Young Friend to get to his feet.

My Lonely Mourner probably thought he had the worst of luck with his girlfriend dying. To me, he was darn lucky to have a brother who loved him enough not to care about all the stuff they say we men don't need. Because sometimes even a man needs to cry and better still, he needs someone to hold him when he does. More than that, he needs someone who won't make him feel like he's less of a man for needing to cry.

As I watched My Young Friend slowly walk away from the graveside with his brother's arm around him, I sensed he was making his way back from the edge, and I figured he'd be alright.

No, the dark days weren't over and they probably wouldn't be for a while yet, but lucky for him, he wasn't alone. He had someone who would help him mourn and make sure he was OK when he came out on the other side of all of this pain. He had someone who would let him grieve but would never let him go over the edge.

Lucky for him, he had a brother.

**THE END**

**As always, thanks for reading. And for everyone who requested a chapter with Dean's letter to Sam, please stay tuned...there's still more to come. **


	8. RSVP

**I Wish I Was Your Brother **

**A/N: **The first chapter in this series, "Love Letter" was originally supposed to be a one shot. But then came the follow up "Signed, Sealed, Delivered" and the whole issue of the correspondence between Sam and Dean took on a life of its own. So for everyone who requested it, here's part three in the story arc. I hope you enjoy it.

**A/N: **If you haven't already done so, I would definitely recommend reading the first two stories before this one.

**A/N: **Once again, thanks to my trusty beta Ericka Jane.

* * *

**-EIGHT-**

**R.S.V.P**

**RSVP**** - an initialism derived from the French phrase répondez s'il vous plaît, which means "Please respond". **

There was no surer way to guarantee a broken heart than to fall for Dean Winchester, and against my better judgement, I did just that.

I have no one but myself to blame for what happened. The fact is, when you introduce yourself to a man by beating him at pool, matching him shot for shot at the bar and then going back to his motel room for the grand finale, you can't really complain if he doesn't think you're wife material.

My mother had long since warned me about my approach to the opposite sex. I think I was about eighteen when she looked at me and said: "Sharlie-May Saunders, the way you throw it around no good man will want you, and all the bad ones have had you already."

She was hardly an example, either. She had saved everything for marriage, presenting herself to my father pure as the driven snow on their wedding night. Even with all that he'd run off and left her soon after I was born. So before I even got the concept of the birds and bees I understood that men were leavers. As a result, I always figured it was in my best interest to leave a man before he left me.

With this guiding philosophy men ended up being more like a sport than anything else. I liked the challenge of the chase; the thrill of the conquest and the confusion and bafflement on their faces when I dumped them. The players and the hot boys were my personal favourites followed by the wise guys who thought they were way ahead of the game.

Dean Winchester was all three rolled up in an exceptionally gorgeous package.

From our first encounter I sensed he'd be the ultimate challenge, and I looked forward to the satisfaction of this particular conquest. I made it a point to leave his motel room in the early hours of morning while he was sleeping off our drinking binge. Although part of me had wanted to linger, rest, and get up when he did, I was honour-bound to be the first to leave.

But the endless thrills of the previous night left me reluctant to sever ties so quickly. So before I went, I left my number on his nightstand. _"It was definitely a night to remember,"_I scribbled beneath the digits, _"RSVP if you'd like to do it again"_.

Just over a week later he called. He said he was passing through town and he wouldn't mind some company. Again, we had an amazing time together; dinner, drinks, and lots of laughter. This time he stayed with me at my apartment leaving me no choice but to wake up beside him.

Over the next few months we slipped into a thoroughly enjoyable routine. I programmed my cell phone to play "RSVP" by Heart whenever he called and I can't deny that my pulse would race, just a little, when I heard the ringtone blaring from my handset. The sound of that song meant I'd get to see Dean soon and every time we set a date, I'd feel as buzzed as if I'd thrown back a dozen shots of Tequila.

Whenever Dean blew into town we would drink hard, party hard, and laugh constantly until he blew back out. Every goodbye was light and casual with an unspoken pact that even if we never saw each other again, it had been one hell of a joyride.

But how long can you be around someone whose presence makes your head feel light and whose touch leaves you dizzy, and keep resisting every form of attachment? For Dean the answer seemed to be indefinitely, for me it wasn't as simple.

I fought hard against my desire to have a deeper connection with him. It didn't make sense to even try when everything about this man seemed expressly designed to resist all forms of romantic commitment. When I tried, in various indirect ways, to reach out to him, he never reached back. Whenever I attempted to get past the "good time guy" facade I ran into an impenetrable brick wall. And any time I approached him on an emotional level he was unresponsive.

I realised I was falling for Dean when I started to feel a quiet inner desperation. That's when I started calling him instead of waiting for him to call me. That's when I started wondering where he was when he wasn't with me, and why so much time had to pass between his visits. That's when I stopped believing the stories about his job keeping him on the road and making his schedule so unpredictable. I became convinced there were other women out there who shared the same casual intimacy with him that I did.

Finally when he stayed away for three entire weeks claiming he had been working, and then he spent some time with an "old family friend", my temper got the better of me. He breezed in the way he usually did, dropped his bag on my living room floor, dropped a careless kiss on my lips, asked where we going tonight and I seethed.

"Where've you been?" I demanded, hands on my hips and fire in my eyes.

"I told you, I was visiting an old friend."

"And you couldn't call."

"I did."

"You called once to say you were going to see 'a friend' and you didn't know when you'd be back. You never said who or where."

"Do I usually?"

"No but I thought ..."

"You thought _what__?_ "

"Nothing."

"Hey," he said taking me by my shoulders so he could look straight at me. "This has never been an issue before."

Even without him saying it, I could hear the end of that sentence. _Don't make it an issue now._

Stepping out of his grasp, I turned away to ensure there wasn't a trace of disappointment on my face. But I couldn't quite manage to quell the resentment.

"So how was your old friend?" I asked facing him and flashing a bitter fake smile. "Was _she_happy to see you?"

"Very happy," Dean said pointedly. "Middle-aged, surrogate uncles are usually ecstatic when you drop by."

"And I look like I was born yesterday, right?"

"Don't give me grief, ok? I've been on the road for hours and I'm exhausted, so if all you wanna do is argue I can just get back in the car, and keep driving."

"Sure," I said even as my stomach lurched at the realisation that it would take nothing for him to walk out. "Straight on to the next town, the next girl, and the next bed, right?"

"Is _that_what this is about?" Dean sneered dismissively. "Sharlie, you need to reign in your over-active imagination."

"Don't treat me like I'm some hysterical schoolgirl, Dean. I haven't seen you for three whole weeks and then you just show up here with no explanation."

"When the hell did I need to start explaining anything to you, Sharlie?" he shouted making the room reverberate with his anger. "When did you start making demands?"

"This isn't a flop house!" I matched him with both volume and fury. "And you can take your temper and your bad attitude to whichever other woman you have who you can hole-up with on the road."

Rage burned in his eyes so much so that I thought it would blaze up and scorch me. He stormed out of my apartment slamming the door so hard it seemed the entire building shook to its foundation. Blind with anger I reached for nearest glass object and flung it against the wall. Then I saw Dean's bag and attacked it, kicking the worn duffle several times before I ripped it opened and started dumping the contents on the floor.

Enraged and embittered I dug through his things determined to find evidence that there was another woman, if not several. I figured I was hot on the trail when I discovered a battered leather binder but when I opened it I saw strange scribbling and drawings that I couldn't understand. Confused, I flipped through the pages then I found a crisp white envelope thick with paper, but not sealed. I pulled out the sheets and saw it was a handwritten letter and since it was in plain English, I began to read.

_Dear Sammy,_

_I swear the only person on the planet who can get me to do something this lame is you._

_Yes, little brother, I got your letter. And as loathed as I am to admit it, when I read it, I knew I'd have to reply._

_You probably won't remember, but the year I turned fourteen - when we spent most of the summer at Bobby's - my summer fling, Cindy Newton, accused me of breaking her heart when we had to hit the road again. __I thought she was kinda silly to have put herself in a position where I could have done that in the first place and so deep down, I wasn't particularly sympathetic._

_Well, the day you left for Stanford without saying goodbye, I think Cindy Newton was somewhere saying "vengeance is mine." And me, I was left with the realisation that a broken heart doesn't necessarily have to do with anything romantic. It's when someone you figure you can't live without essentially says they can do just fine without you._

_I thought that was what you were saying when you went away. And you know me, I can deal with practically anything, but I found I just couldn't handle that._

_When I accepted that you were really gone, I knew I was gonna miss you like hell. But nothing prepared me for how empty I felt being without my annoying, pain in the butt, geek brother._

_You've always bugged the hell out of me but it's just been so hard not having you around. I keep expecting you to come through the door and start talking to me about some useless historical information you've discovered, or some boring book you're reading. I keep expecting to get one of your silly 'just because' text messages. __The kind that always made me roll my eyes but to be honest, kinda made me happy, too.__The kind that say nothing but say everything._

_As pathetic as it sounds, it's those girlie, nerdy things you used to do that always reminded me that I wasn't alone in this messed up world. Without saying a word you constantly found a way to tell me that no matter how bad things got, I'd always have my little brother and somehow Sam, you were always enough._

_You were enough to get me through the times when I missed Mom or when I was worried about Dad. Or when Dad was mad at me, or worse, disappointed with something I did or didn't do._

_When you were little you'd crawl into my lap, reach for my hand, or lift your arms for me to pick you up and no matter what was happening, I'd instantly feel better. Then when you got older you'd always want to talk and you'd need me to listen, and being there for you reminded me why I was here in the first place. And sometimes, it was when you didn't say a thing. You'd just sit beside me or ride shotgun with me and you'd seem happy to just be there, and that always made me feel special._

_And trust me as soon as I got over being mad as hell with you for leaving, I really planned to be proud of you for having the courage to strike out on your own. I'm sorry that I never got a chance to congratulate you for being brilliant enough to get the taxpayers to foot the bill for your high priced college education. And the next time I see you, I have to buy you a drink, but that's after I kick your butt for being pigheaded, stubborn, and infuriating enough to actually get up and go._

_I'm also gonna kick your butt for making me cry when I read your letter. And I'll kick it again if you ever repeat that to anyone living or dead._

_On top of that, I'm gonna beat the crap out of you because everything you wrote made me feel like a damn hypocrite. Sure I raised you to be independent but that really didn't mean that you were actually supposed to be able to live without your big brother. I'm happy that you think I helped you to find the courage to go after what you want, but it killed me to have to let you go. And of course, like the awesome big brother I am, I taught you how to be a man, but I wasn't prepared for you to grow up so fast._

_The thing is, everything about the way you left for Stanford just said you didn't need me anymore. It was easier to be mad as hell at you for that rather than admit __that it hurt me so much, I wanted to cry like a kid who had been by-passed by Santa on Christmas Day._

_And call me selfish but your letter, which essentially said in so many ways you're still a freaking baby, was kinda heart-warming to read. I guess it's good to know I'm not the only one suffering from this stupid separation anxiety._

_I'm really grateful for all you said in your letter but don't think that because I'm the big brother, I haven't learned a few things from you too._

_Sam, because of you I know that it's possible to love someone more than your own life, and when it's reciprocal it's something that can get you through the worse times._

_You taught me that hugs aren't bad, in fact, when you get over feeling awkward for acting like a ten year old girl, they're OK. Talking is OK too. But what's really special is realising that there's someone who will listen no matter where the hell you are, or what time of day it is when the words decide to come pouring out in spite of all you've done to hold them back. You're that someone for me._

_You've also helped me to see that trust is rare and priceless __and so__ are the__ people who earn it. And when you find someone you trust with your life, you don't think twice about doing anything for them. And on that note, in case you didn't know, let me tell you that there really isn't anything that I wouldn't do for you, Sammy._

_And one last thing – because this really is going on too long – most kids that go off to college know they always have a home to go back to. Don't feel for one minute that you're any different. I'll always be here for you, so if you ever feel 'homesick' just pick up the phone and give me a call. And if you need something, and I mean anything, don't even think twice about asking._

_I know you don't have a picket fence or even a fixed address but you do have a big brother who loves you more than anything, and that's something you can always go back to any time you like. So call me whenever you wanna come home._

_Love,_

_Dean._

As I had read each word the anger that had boiled my blood dissipated leaving me feeling empty and exhausted. Who the hell was the man who had written this and why was it that he never showed himself to me? I would have been ecstatic if Dean had even sent me a text message expressing even a fraction of this kind of love and devotion.

Tears welled up in my eyes but I blinked hard to keep them back. I'd been intimate with Dean for months and I'd never seen this side of him. Of course I'd figured out that the whole "to hell with it all" attitude was one big front; but never in my wildest dreams did I imagine the depth of sensitivity and emotion that it was covering up.

"What the hell are you doing?"

My heart stopped when I heard Dean's furious voice behind me. I swallowed hard as my breath caught in my throat. My head felt so light I figured it had disconnected from my body and floated upwards like a helium balloon. Shaking, I rose to my feet to face his fury.

Long after I'm dead and buried, I think I'll still feel the abject shame I felt standing there with that letter in my hand while Dean stared at me, enraged to the point of murder.

It didn't make sense to lie or even try to save face now.

"I was looking for evidence," I admitted.

"_Of what? _" Dean demanded, obviously restraining himself from giving full vent to his anger and killing me.

"Of the fact that you're seeing someone else."

"And if you'd found it?" He was keeping his rage on a leash, but I wasn't sure how much longer he could restrain it.

"Then it would have been better," I said softly, suddenly feeling very small and inferior.

"Excuse me?"

"It would have been better to believe that the impression you try so hard to give me is true, Dean. It would have been easier for me if I had found proof that you're a heartless flirt incapable of any real commitment or any deep emotion. But instead, I have confirmation."

"Confirmation of what?"

"That it's not that you can't feel deeply, it's that you won't let yourself. And whatever I am to you, it's not enough to change your mind on that."

"Sharlie," he was backing down from his anger and backing away from my quiet confrontation. "Is this about to get complicated?"

"No," I said trying hard to mask the hurt that he didn't even think what we had was worth arguing over. "It's just that..."

"What?"

"How comes I never get this from you?" I asked shaking the letter at him.

He snatched the papers out of my hand.

"Get what?"

"Tenderness," I said, hating myself for being weak enough to admit I needed it. "Nurturing, protectiveness..." but I stopped just before I said "love".

"He's my little brother," he said as if that explained everything. "It's completely different."

"No it isn't," I insisted. I knew I should just shut my damn mouth and not give myself away, but still I pressed the issue. "We've been together for a while now and I had no idea you were even capable of caring this deeply about anyone."

"You don't understand. Since he was six months old he's been the most important person in my life."

"So you just shut everyone else out? Or is it just me?"

"Look it's a really long and complicated story."

"One you have no intention of sharing with me, right?"

"None of it matters now."

"No, Dean. From the tone of that letter I'd say your brother is all that does matter."

"Yeah, well he's my flesh and blood. It's not like he's some girl I..."

"You what Dean? You picked up in a bar? You pop in on every now and again when you're in the mood for a roll in the hay?"

"That's not what I'm saying, Sharlie. Don't make this into anything more than it is."

"Well, that's a loaded statement if ever there was one," I tried to sound dismissive, unaffected. "So it _is_ me then."

"No, it's not. It's me. I don't do long term and I've always been up front about that."

"You mean you _won't_do long term. Why?"

"I'm just not in a position to make that kind of commitment."

"Well not to a girl like me anyway."

"Not to anyone."

"Except your brother."

"He's different. He's family."

"It's not just about family. You obviously can't help yourself when it comes to him. Is it because he's been around so long he managed to get close before all those walls came up?"

The bright red flush belied anything he could say in denial.

"Sharlie, don't."

"Or is that he's the only one you'll ever let in?"

Even without him uttering a single word the violent clench of his jaw spoke volumes.

I was intruding not just in his life but on his heart. This was a place in his emotions and affection that clearly I had no business venturing into. I was trespassing into sacred territory where I was neither needed nor wanted.

"He's my brother. I've taken care of him all his life. I can't explain it, Sharlie, but he's the only person I can honestly say I'll love for the rest of my life."

I blew out hard. It wasn't just the words it was the way he said them and the look on his face that confirmed that this was a love that would probably last longer than his life. And in the face of that love I felt small, insignificant, undeserving. Who was I to ever think that some nights of fun and excitement would ever put me in that category?

"You're right," I sighed. "He's not just some girl you picked up in a bar."

"Sharlie."

"I know what I am, Dean, and what's more; I know what I am to you."

"Don't sell yourself short." He came close and ran his fingers gently down my cheek.

I stepped back from the touch. I didn't know if it was pity or passion and I wanted neither. What I did want, I discovered much to my own distress, was love. The deep, boundless devotion that was so clearly expressed in that letter. The care and the compassion that he worked so hard to suppress but was obviously a big part of who he was.

But it was plain as day that none of that was forthcoming and I had already given too much of myself away.

He's just a man, I reminded myself as I stepped back, putting some very necessary space in between us. He's as infinitely replaceable as all the rest of them you've ever tossed aside.

I steeled myself and faced him knowing that I probably couldn't make it all the way back to casual and flirtatious, but I'd be damned if I let him know he'd hurt my heart, and I'd slit my wrists before I let him see me cry.

"Look," I said dismissively, "This is all getting too heavy and deep. Why don't I just fix you something to eat and you can get some sleep before you hit the road in the morning."

"You don't have to do that. I'll get a motel room and just grab something to eat on the road."

"Don't go, Dean. Just stay the night and then you can get an early start tomorrow."

"Sharlie, you don't have to do this."

But I did. Dean Winchester was the only man I'd ever come close to even thinking that I loved, and at some level I needed it to end on a dignified note. I didn't want my last memory to be of him leaving in the dead of night after the fight in which he essentially told me that none of what I felt for him was mutual.

"Come on, Dean," with much effort the casual, easy tone was seeping back into my voice. "This is the least I can do for a friend."

I headed to the kitchen and started reaching for pots and ingredients. I had to do something to prove that I was O.K.

"Thanks. I can just crash on the couch if you like."

"Dean," I cut him off with a dismissive wave of a wooden spoon. "We're adults. We can share a bed and sleep."

That's exactly what we did and he drifted off into a blissful slumber while I lay awake beside him for hours. When I did manage to doze off I awoke soon after and found myself clinging to a still sleeping Dean, who had turned his back to me.

In all the time we had been together, no matter how closely he held me when we fell asleep, I always woke up to find that at some point in the night he'd turned away, but I'd kept holding on.

Tonight, I decided to let go.

I pulled away from him, turned in the opposite direction and moments later I was asleep again.

In the morning, I offered to make Dean breakfast before he left, but he refused not wanting to drag out the farewell scene. Dinner had been the last supper and we both knew it.

I got up and made myself busy straightening things that weren't out of place so I didn't have to watch him pack his things for the last time. My stomach quivered with distress and my heart ached with regret, but I didn't cry.

When he zipped his duffle, shouldered it and headed for the door, my throat constricted, painfully and but, I didn't cry.

My eyes stung and I struggled to control my breathing as hurt overwhelmed me when he said goodbye, but still, I didn't cry.

I kissed him lightly on the cheek, told him to take care of himself, watched as he turned to walk away and then I stopped him.

"Wait," I said suddenly.

Dean stopped and looked back questioningly. I went quickly to my handbag and dug around in it. When I found what I was looking for I took it back to Dean.

"Here," I handed him a small packet wrapped in cellophane.

"What is it?" he asked, reaching out hesitantly.

"Stamps." I told him.

His eyes clouded momentarily but he kept his emotions in check. His determination to be reserved strengthened my own resolve not to give anything else away.

When he reached out to accept my offering his hand lingered on mine. "Thanks," he whispered.

I pulled my hand away and stepped backwards almost immediately.

I closed the door quickly, putting a physical barrier between us to cement the emotional one.

I walked over to the couch and lay down.

I pulled my knees protectively to my chest and held on tight.

And then, I cried.

**THE END**

**Thanks for reading. There's more where this came from. Keep watching this space. **


	9. Unbreakable

**I Wish I Was Your Brother **

**A/N: **Beta services provided by the awesome Ericka Jane.

**A/N:** Tag to episode 2:15 "Tall Tales".

With his mission unaccomplished, the Trickster reflects on why his treachery didn't work on the Winchester Boys.

* * *

**- NINE -**

**Unbreakable**

I had a perfect success rate for causing irreparable damage in even the closest relationships, until I tried to drive a wedge between Sam and Dean Winchester.

On the surface it seemed like they would be the perfect victims: dysfunctional childhoods, lifelong pain from the untimely death of their mother, and repressed hurt about the emotional withdrawal of their father. Then there was their confusion and doubt about their father's love, and insecurity about whether it had been distributed equally between them or more favourably on one at the expense of the other.

Encouraged by the endless possibilities, I got to work.

I started with Sam, and the first signs were encouraging. I saw resentment towards his brother for what Sam considered his unquestioning obedience to their father. I saw jealousy that Dean was the perfect son who had earned the respect and admiration of their father in a way Sam had never been able to. I saw deep misgivings about Dean's promiscuous behaviour, his comfort level with lying, and unwillingness to aspire to anything more than the life of a hunter.

On the surface, it seemed there was plenty to work with, and I figured Sam Winchester would be an easy enough target.

I managed to get Sam irritated at his brother, and angry enough to bicker and argue with Dean. But every time I pushed for malice and cruelty I made no progress. I pulled out all the stops, taunting him with bad memories from his childhood, and throwing his brother's most irritating habits in his face. Despite all this, I couldn't get the desired response.

Frustrated with my lack of progress, I began to probe the depths of his subconscious. When I burrowed into his heart and found the place where the raw truth of his emotions dwelled, even I was shocked at what I saw.

For Dean, Sam felt constant and consistent adoration.

In the inner sanctuary of Sam's mind and heart, adoration enveloped his brother like an unending, impenetrable blanket. I tried to infiltrate it only to find the adoration was reinforced by overwhelming gratitude. I got lost in the vast sea of things that Sam was grateful to his brother for. To make it even worse, entangled in all of this was an undying veneration.

The young boy who thought that his big brother was his lifeblood had never really grown up. Any feelings of anger, jealousy, and even competiveness were nullified by the fact that Sam never lost that little brother awe of Dean.

And although at some point in his life he seemed to have realised Dean wasn't perfect, big brother had remained his ultimate hero, and the person whose respect and approval he most desperately craved.

That love was unconditional, so I stopped wasting time.

However, my failure to convert Sam made me all the more determined when I began to pursue Dean.

An initial glance into Dean's thoughts and emotions made success seem like a given. There was anger at his little brother for breaking up their family when he ran off to college. On top of that sat resentment of what Dean saw as Sam's selfishness for putting himself before Dean and their father, although they had spent their lives sacrificing for Sam. Then, to my extreme delight, I found bitterness that his baby brother - whose needs he had always put before his own - could actually have walked away from him.

I played on these deeply buried hurts, aggravating old but raw wounds, determined to turn Dean against Sam.

My work was in vain.

As hard as I pushed Dean, I was never able to move him beyond a yelling match, or when pressed an angry punch or shove. I used every trick in the book and still couldn't move him from anger to hatred and loathing.

Frustrated like hell, I began to explore the inner recesses of his secret emotions. When I found his feelings for Sam I was overwhelmed by the all-consuming devotion. It was daunting, but I figured with a determined effort I could chip away at that. Then I found protectiveness so vast and heavy that I knew even I didn't have the strength to tackle it.

And if that wasn't bad enough there was also admiration in its purest form. Dean genuinely thought his little brother was a remarkable human being, and had the greatest respect for Sam's brilliance, independence, and his childlike honesty.

Neither time, nor distance, nor disappointment had been able to change the fact that Dean Winchester felt his little brother was the most precious thing on earth.

In all my days of creating dissension among loved ones, and replacing devotion and affection with detestation and revulsion, I'd never failed as miserably as I did with the Winchesters. In my life's work of ruining every form of relationship I had never encountered, an obstacle as arresting as the bond between those two boys.

That bond withstood every evil weapon in my arsenal; neutralising even my most powerful artillery. It renewed and revived itself after every onslaught, with a resilience born from an undying commitment to stand against any force that threatened it.

Pitted against the Winchesters my tricks were useless.

Their love was unconditional, and that bond was unbreakable.

**THE END**

**Thanks for reading. There's still more to come. **


	10. Written Instructions

**I Wish I Was Your Brother **

**A/N:** When I first started this series, I had ideas for less than five stories and now here we are at Chapter 10. I've enjoyed every minute of writing these fics and getting your feedback. Thanks to everyone who has read, reviewed and added the series to their favourites and alerts.

**A/N:** Inspiration doesn't necessarily strike in chronological order; you just have to go with the stories as the muse dictates. This is the prequel to "Love Letters" the very first story in this series.

**A/N: **None of the medical advice outlined below has any basis in fact nor is it prescriptive.

**A/N:** Chapter 10 is dedicated to my beta, Ericka Jane who always does the hair and make-up.

**A/N:** Sam Girls, it's been a while since he's gotten solo screen time in this series; this one's for you. Happy reading.

* * *

**- TEN -**

**Written Instructions**

When you serve as a doctor at a college like Stanford, the endless stream of students often makes it difficult to distinguish one patient from another; but I'll never forget Sam Winchester.

I did his medical during his first week of college and it immediately struck me that there was something different about this young man. He defied every stereotype that had come through my doors during the ten years I worked at the prestigious university.

He wasn't the spoiled child from a wealthy family who figured Stanford was just one stop on the way to predestined greatness. He wasn't the awkward gifted student who couldn't see beyond academic achievement. He definitely wasn't the star athlete, although his build said he probably could have been had he been so inclined. And he didn't come across like the poor scholarship student, socially out of his depth and desperate to fit in.

I knew he was different when he stepped into my office and wasn't fazed by me or my workspace. As a Native American, who is fiercely proud of my antecedents, my clothes, hair and even my choice of decor all reflect my heritage.

The first time a student came to see me; it usually took them a good half hour to get over my office and even longer to get over me.

Sam Winchester didn't even blink.

As soon as we had finished going through the rudiments of his medical he began questioning me about the paintings and artefacts that adorned my walls. To my complete surprise, he recognised quite a few of the pieces and knew the meanings of several of the symbols.

Sam asked about my background, my childhood and my family and I was only too eager to share. Interestingly, he listened, not with the fascination of someone being told an exotic tale, but almost like a student who was getting valuable information on a topic with which he was already familiar.

As we stood examining my ancestral portraits Sam's gaze fell on the loan full colour photograph on the wall.

"Is that you?" He asked, pointing to the picture.

"And my Grandfather," I said running my finger along the edge of the simple silver frame as if it would give me a connection. "Chief Rivermoore Shayne. That was taken the day I graduated from Medical School. My Grandfather practiced what would now be referred to as alternative medicine. I've kept my maiden name for my medical practice in honour of him. He was really the first medical practitioner in our family; I was just the first to get officially qualified."

"And who's been more effective?" He asked, perceptively.

"Ask me that out of office if you want an honest answer," I said with a wistful sigh. "I did medicine at Harvard and I still consider Grandpa my most impactful teacher. Of course if I used all the things he taught me I'd have a malpractice suit every day. But he always said that every illness starts in the heart, and that's something I've carried with me. In more than 20 years of practicing medicine, I always keep my prescription pad in my desk drawer to remind me that the first recourse shouldn't always be pharmaceuticals."

Sam had looked at me then, with a curious mix of respect and acceptance. Somehow, I got the sense that I had passed some secret test, and had now been granted unspoken permission to come just a little closer.

"Do you really believe that?" He asked.

"I do," I answered sincerely. "My Grandfather's approach was always to treat the emotions before dealing with the physical symptoms. Of course that doesn't necessarily hold true for Diabetes and Cancer, but I have found that a rather large percent of what ails us tends to be more psychological than physiological."

I am not sure where Sam stood on faith healing and alternative medicine but he seemed to view established medicine as a last resort. The next time I saw him he was being wracked by a merciless flu that had him coughing like an eighteenth century pauper, plagued by Tuberculosis. I chided him for not coming to see me until he was at the point of death and he weakly admitted he didn't believe in over utilizing doctors. I lectured him strongly on that one and told him if he ever allowed any illness to become this severe before coming to see me again, I would have him hospitalised just to teach him a lesson.

Chicken Pox brought him back to my office, probably sooner than he would have liked but illness notwithstanding, I was happy to see him. I plied him with topical creams and tablets, anxious to ensure that the eruption would not be too severe and wouldn't cause scarring. He came back when the episode had subsided to show me that he had emerged unscathed.

Whenever I had an appointment with Sam, I always made sure there was enough time scheduled for us to have our talks. He seemed to thoroughly enjoy conversation even if it was about topics that seemed random and obscure. I got the impression that he was used to being _listened to _and I genuinely enjoyed speaking with him. He was very focused on his academics so I was always checking up on his grades, tests, and assignments.

Since it was generally highly contagious diseases or near fatal influenza that brought Sam to my office, I was caught totally off guard the day he came to see me about his Insomnia.

"You're having trouble sleeping?" I asked.

"I'm practically not sleeping at all," Sam responded.

I looked him at him closely and saw some of the tell-tale signs. His skin was pale, his eyes were shadowed and he seemed listless.

"When you say, not sleeping at all, what exactly does that mean?"

"I haven't slept well since I moved into the dorms. It usually takes me a while to fall asleep and then I get up two or three times during the night. But now, I just can't fall asleep at all."

"So you're not getting _any __r_est?"

"Probably about an hour or so every night," he gave an anxious sigh. He was wringing his hands and looking down at the table distractedly. "It's really starting to get to me now. I can't concentrate, I'm tired all the time, and I'm getting forgetful. I'm not a pill-popper but I gotta ask for something."

The prescription pad was in its usual resting place in my desk drawer and I saw no immediate need to take it out. Instead, I decided to probe.

"Is your dorm room conducive to sleep Sam?" I asked.

"It has a bed."

"But apart from that, do you study in your room or entertain friends there? Sometimes when we use our sleep areas for various activities it becomes harder for the mind to associate that particular location with rest."

"I pretty much go there just to crash. I do most of my studying at the library and so far, I haven't really been doing much entertaining. But the room is fine; at least, I don't see anything wrong with it."

"Do you miss home? A lot of people find it difficult to cope with the change in their living conditions when they come to college."

"Home is a bit of an abstract concept Dr. Shayne. My family moved around a lot."

"Were you used to having your own room?"

"No. I've never had my own room. I've always shared with my brother, Dean."

"O.K. So it's not so bad having a roommate now, is it?"

"To be honest Dr. Shayne, it's completely awkward. I'm used to having Dean in my space, that's like second nature to me. Living with a stranger is taking some getting used to but, it's not like it's gonna kill me."

"Do you have any special bedtime rituals?"

"Like what?"

"It could be anything, like night time meditation or maybe reading. Some people write in a journal to bring closure to the day. Is there anything that you do that tells your mind and body that you're winding down and preparing to sleep?"

"No, I pretty much just shower and lie down."

I considered and then tried a different line of questioning.

"Did you have a comfort object when you were little?"

"What exactly is that?"

"Like a favourite pillow or a stuffed toy that you couldn't do without."

"You mean a security blanket?"

"Exactly."

"No, not at all," Sam shrugged. "Like I said my family moved around for most of my life and we didn't take much with us. I never really got attached to anything like that."

"So when you were little, there wasn't anything that you felt you had to have with you before you could go to sleep?"

"No, nothing that I can recall. My brother was always the one who put me to bed. When I was little, I would just crawl onto his lap when I was ready to go to sleep. He'd tuck me in and lie down with me, or tell me a story and he'd always stay with me until I feel asleep. But it wasn't like I couldn't sleep because I didn't have my special pillow or anything like that."

"Your brother would lie down with you every night?"

"When I was a little? Sure." Sam said casually. "Whenever my Dad talks about my childhood he refers to Dean as my sedative."

I chuckled. "Nice big brother."

"The best," he said and I'm sure I heard a hint of sadness but his face didn't reflect anything untoward. "My whole life I've been a restless sleeper and I'd always had these really bad nightmares, so I was constantly climbing into Dean's bed to get away from the monsters."

He looked up expectantly like he was waiting for me to make a judgement.

"It's a proven fact that sibling bed sharing promotes security," I smiled reassuringly. "There's medical evidence to support it. Sleeping in close proximity to someone you love and trust fosters feelings of well-being. That's why kids always want to sleep with their parents. Besides," I grinned mischievously. "I bet the monsters didn't bother you when big brother was close by."

"They didn't dare," Sam smiled back.

"So did your brother finally kick you out when you got big enough to fight him for the covers?"

"No. I don't think he would have. Even if he had a problem with it, he wouldn't have made a big deal if he thought it was what I needed. But I didn't give him a chance; when I turned ten I stopped, I figured it was the manly thing to do."

"Had your sleeping patterns gotten better by then?"

"No, it's never really settled down totally."

"How did you handle it when you had nightmares?"

"At first I thought I'd had to just tough it out but I'm a pretty noisy dreamer, so I'd usually wake Dean up. He'd talk to me until I went back to sleep. He kinda had a system, if my nightmare wasn't too bad he'd just stay on his bed talk, but if he thought I was really scared he'd come and sit on my bed. Of course he'd sit up against the headboard so it wasn't like he was sleeping with me or anything, but he wouldn't leave until I was out for the count. Sometimes he ended up falling asleep right beside me."

"So this is the first time you two have been apart for an extended period?"

"First time in our lives," Sam confirmed.

"Well, that explains a lot."

"A lot like what?"

"Well Sam, most children, when they're babies they get a comfort object. It's something parents give them or they latch on to that makes them feel secure, especially when their parents aren't around. It's usually a blanket or a pillow or sometimes it's a teddy bear. Children come to equate their comfort object with security and constancy, hence the term 'security blanket'. And, these things become particularly important at night because when we get tired and sleepy, that's when we tend to feel most vulnerable and that's when we really want to be close to whatever makes us feel secure.

"As a child gets older their parents usually have to wean them from the comfort object. They have to get them to see that one pillow is just as good as another or there's nothing really magic about that tattered old blanket. Usually by then the child has formed other attachments to friends, family members or maybe even pets, so eventually they let go. Sam, I'd say, in your case, your brother was your comfort object."

"What?"

"Well from what you said, he's the first thing you got attached to. He was who you always saw just before you went to bed at night and probably the first person you saw when you woke up in the morning. When you were little – and way beyond that, from what you told me – he was what you clung to when you felt most vulnerable. He's what's always made you feel comforted and safe, and so you've come to associate his presence with your own sense of well-being."

When he didn't respond, but only looked down at his hands again, I went on.

"It sounds to me like the weaning never really did take place. So whereas most children have some kind of cut-off point for their dependence, yours just evolved."

"I'm eighteen years old Dr. Shayne," his tone was measured but his annoyance was audible. "I'm not dependent on anybody."

"Sam," I gentled my tone knowing we were in uncomfortable territory. "I can only go by what you've said, and it sounds to me like you never stopped equating your big brother with safety and he never stopped being your protector. So even when you felt like you got too old to crawl into bed with him if you were scared, you two just replaced cuddling with talking. The connection was still there although it may not have manifested itself in physical affection. Sure, masculine pride would make you think that there was a big difference between him lying on your bed and talking to you, as opposed to hugging you until you fell asleep, but it was his presence, in whatever form, that made the difference to you."

Sam wouldn't look at me, but I could see the blush creeping across his face.

"It's nothing to be embarrassed about," I said encouragingly. "I grew up in a very close family and I wouldn't change that for anything. You're lucky to have such a close relationship with your brother. Which is more to my point; you've never really slept alone, and you're used to always having a comforting and protective presence. So college must be a huge adjustment for you. Strange environment, different living conditions, unfamiliar sleeping arrangements, your psyche is probably reacting to your new circumstances and that's why you're not sleeping."

"I don't see what the big deal is," Sam was starting to sound defensive. "Like I said, I moved around a lot. One bed or one room is just the same as another."

"Sure." I deliberately kept my tone even to defuse him. "But going by what you said, your brother was always with you, so even if the room changed and the bed changed, he didn't. He was the constant."

"Yeah," he said softly. "He always was."

"So here's my recommendation, I want you to try talking to your brother at night. Give him a call before you go to sleep and that might help you to relax. Try that for about a week and see if it helps you to rest better."

"That's not possible."

"Why?" I asked suddenly concerned that something had happened to the much esteemed Dean. That would certainly explain Sam's extreme sleep disturbance.

"It just isn't possible right now."

"Is he alive?"

"Yeah," Sam nodded tiredly.

"So what's to prevent you from calling him?"

A pregnant silence ensued before Sam finally said, "We're not really talking right now."

"Oh. How come?"

"It's a long story."

"It usually is with families," I said understandingly. "And I don't expect you to recount the details of the Winchester saga for my benefit, but if you and your brother aren't on speaking terms, the healthy thing to do is to patch things up. Give him a call."

"I don't know if he'll even talk to me," Sam muttered looking down at the desk. "We had a huge fight before I left to come to school, and we didn't exactly part on a speaking terms."

"So not only is your sense of security one thousand miles away, you're not even communicating with him, which means you're operating with seriously impaired emotional faculties. No wonder you can't sleep."

Sam looked up suddenly; ready to go back on the defensive. "Dr. Shayne, I really don't think that has anything to do with what's happening to me. I can't sleep because I'm working part time and carrying an excessive course load. I probably took on too much and it's catching up with me."

"And in the short time I've known you, you've taken all of that in stride. When was the last time you got a B Sam?"

"Still haven't."

"Exactly. From day one it was so clear that none of the things that freak first year students out even bothered you. From the day I met you I saw you had the air of a very old soul Sam. Now I'm not sure what you might have seen or done in your short lifetime young man, but it seems there's not much in college life that really fazes you. So in my opinion, you can't sleep because your mind is not allowing your body to shut down and that's because subconsciously you don't feel safe."

"Please don't psychoanalyze me, Doc."

There was a faint plea in his voice that I couldn't ignore. I was his physician, not his psychiatrist and this was going beyond the scope of our working contract. But at the same time he knew my style now, and he could not have expected me to just send him away with a prescription.

"The problem is psychological, Sam. You have insomnia because subconsciously, you're not at peace. Remember what I said; when we're tired is when we feel the most vulnerable, and that's when we want to reach for whatever or whoever makes us feel safe. Your body can't wind down because you don't have that sense that everything's O.K. And it's not O.K. because your brother isn't here, and your sense of well-being seems to be directly dependent on him being around. Every illness starts in the heart."

He sighed deeply and rubbed his hands over his face. I felt like I was watching the facade of a composed young man peeling away, gradually revealing a vulnerable little boy.

"Sam, I'd say your insomnia is a just a symptom of a deeper psycho-emotional issue. Now I can write a prescription for something that will treat the symptoms but I'm afraid that's only going to give you temporary relief at best. Personally, I would prefer to treat the underlying issue and I think that means sorting things out with your brother."

I got a challenging, defying look in response. "Dr. Shayne," Sam said politely. "I'm an adult. Don't reduce me to a scared little four year old who can't sleep if his big brother isn't there to tuck him in."

A boundary line had been drawn and I had no choice but to respect it.

I opened my top desk drawer, took out my prescription pad and picked up a pen.

"Prescription sleep aids can be habit forming," I said. "So I'm going to need to monitor you closely once you start taking them."

"I'm sure I won't need them for too long."

"I'll write the initial prescription for two weeks," I paused briefly with my pen just above the paper. "Then you need to come back and see me and we'll evaluate if the situation is improving."

He agreed, but just as I was about to start writing he spoke again.

"I don't know if he'll even listen to me."

"There's one way to find out," I quietly put the pen down. "Give him a call."

"The thing is, if he doesn't want to talk to me I think I'd rather not know."

"Sam from what you've told me it's highly unlikely that he doesn't want to talk to you. He may be really upset with you but that doesn't mean he won't listen to what you have to say."

"I don't even know what I want to say. I don't know that I trust myself to say anything. I'm afraid if I try to talk to him it'll just end with us shouting again. I don't know that I won't make it worse."

"Then maybe you shouldn't call him. Maybe you should just send him an email or better yet do it the old fashion way; write him a letter."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, seriously," I said liking the idea the more I thought about. "Just write it all down and that way you don't have to worry about having an argument. You can get everything out and tell him your side of the story without dealing with any kind of retort. And that way, he'll at least know how you feel."

"Dean's gonna think that's so lame," Sam shook his head incredulously. "He's always accused me of being a girl. This will seal it."

"If this is the same big brother who managed to find an inventive way to indirectly keep cuddling you, even when you were a teenager, then I think his machismo can handle a letter."

Enough said; I started writing.

"You can't consume alcohol when you're taking this medication so no night time boozing, OK?"

"OK."

"Try to ensure you can get at least eight hours sleep for the first few nights, or you might feel drowsy in the mornings."

"Sure."

I quickly scribbled on two sheets of the prescription paper, which I tore from the pad, folded and handed to him.

"Thanks, Dr. Shayne."

"I hope you feel better, Sam. And I'm serious about monitoring you so please make your next appointment with my Assistant right now."

"Sure thing." He gave a shy, grateful smile before slipping out of my office.

Once he was gone I took a few moments to decompress, reminding myself that this was professional and not personal. Even though I felt strongly that Sam's condition was directly related to his acrimonious separation from his brother and the subsequent loss of his support system, I couldn't force him to see it that way.

He could view his condition as a psychological problem or a physiological one. The choice was his and his approach to treatment would directly depend on whatever he decided.

So, since my job was to ensure that he was adequately prepared for either eventuality I had given him two prescriptions. One said: "20mg Citroval. One tablet to be taken at night 20 minutes before bedtime." But, if every illness starts in the heart, then that's where the healing must begin. So, the other prescription said: "Write Your Brother!"

**THE END**

**Thanks for reading. Don't change the channel, there's more to come...**


	11. Privileged Correspondence

**I Wish I Was Your Brother **

**A/N: **It's wonderful to be back writing this series. I certainly hope you'll continue to enjoy it. This is for everyone who asked about it while I took a little hiatus especially Mar98.

**A/N: **This is another chapter in the letters story arc. It continues after "RSVP" and "Written Instructions". If you haven't already done so, I would highly recommend you read both of those chapters to get the full context of this one.

**A/N: **None of the medical advice or information is based on fact and the meds are a figment of the author's imagination.

**A/N: **Much love and thanks to my beta Ericka Jane.

* * *

**- ELEVEN -**

**Privileged Correspondence**

Ironically, I learned the most profound truths about motherhood from two motherless boys, Sam and Dean Winchester.

Sam was a patient at my medical practice at Stanford and very early in our professional relationship we became good friends. Dean was a mysterious figure; Sam's big brother who he clearly adored, but apparently no longer spoke to.

From the little Sam had told me, Dean had been parent, brother, best friend and more. I didn't know what had caused the crippling strain of such a loving and nurturing relationship; but the impact of the malice was particularly debilitating to Sam. When he came to see me complaining about insomnia, I had tried to explain that illnesses of that nature were usually more psychological than physiological. He didn't necessarily accept my view and had opted to treat his condition with pharmaceuticals.

When two weeks on sleeping pills brought no real relief, he returned to my office seeking an alternative medication. That set off a course of events through which our lives became inextricably entwined.

"The Citroval didn't work?" I asked when Sam sat across from me looking bleary-eyed and a little agitated. He had chosen a bad day to pay me a visit but I did my best to put my personal issues aside and give him my full attention.

"No," he shook his head. "I got about five; maybe six hours sleep the first few nights I took it. Then I was back to about two hours on a good night. I was thinking maybe we need to up the dose or something."

I had suspected the medication would only provide temporary, if any relief, but I decided to tread lightly. When Sam had first told me about his difficulty resting, we had spoken at length about his childhood bedtime rituals. From what he had said, it was his big brother who'd always read to him at night, tucked him before he went to sleep and provided a place of refuge whenever he had nightmares. Sam told me he'd often suffered from various sleep disturbances while he was growing up and Dean had helped him get through a lot of long difficult nights.

I had listened intently while he had painted a picture of a sibling who sounded like the centre of his world and the source of his security. Then I'd felt a deep sense of disappointment when he'd told that he and his brother no longer spoke to each other.

My approach to medicine had always been to treat the whole person and not just the symptoms. So I immediately concluded that Sam's insomnia had more to do with his acrimonious separation from Dean than the stress of college life, which he was citing as the cause of his condition. In-keeping with my holistic approach, I'd told him to try mending fences with his brother. When he said he doubted that Dean would even take his call, I'd suggested that he write him a good, old fashioned, snail mail letter. Instead Sam had asked for prescription medication.

That day I'd written two prescriptions for him; one for the Citroval and one that gave him explicit instructions to write his brother. The fact that he was back in front of me, two weeks later, having gotten no satisfying results from the sleeping pills begged the question if he taken me up on my other recommendation.

As I contemplated how to broach the topic without seeming to invade his privacy, he cut to the chase.

"Yes, I wrote to Dean and that didn't help either."

"When did you write to him?"

"The same day you told me to do it. It was the most difficult thing I've ever written but I refused to fill the prescription until I got it done."

"And how did you feel once you'd done it?"

"Better, to be honest. Lighter."

"And?" I pressed. "Has there been any response."

"No," I could hear the disappointment in Sam's voice.

And the fact that his letter had gone unanswered could well have been the reason for Sam's continuing insomnia.

"But who knows? My brother moves around a lot so I mailed the letter to a good family friend, and I'm not even sure if he's seen it yet."

"O.K." I conceded. "So let's see what we can do about this medication."

"Yeah but first, you gotta tell me what's up with you?"

"Excuse me?" My eyes – and mind – had started to drift while he was talking but I quickly refocused on him.

"You don't look yourself at all, Dr. Shayne. You've seemed distracted from the moment I walked in here."

"I'm fine Sam," I waved my hand dismissively. "I think we're here to talk about you."

"No, you're not fine," he said gently. "And we always talk about me. You listen to me more than anyone ever has, except my brother. Now it looks like I need to repay the favour."

"Sam, that would not be appropriate." Again I tried, and failed, to sound as if I was perfectly fine, but lord knows I wasn't. And Sam, being such a sensitive soul, had easily detected the sense of dejection I was trying so hard to reign in.

"I know you play everything by the book Dr. Shayne but we don't only have a doctor/patient relationship; I like to think of us as friends."

"I'm your doctor first," I put in quickly.

"Sure. That's why you spend the first fifteen minutes of every appointment treating me and then the rest of the hour chatting about everything from Native American history to my latest sociology assignment."

"Sam," I gestured cautiously.

"Come on, Dr. Shayne. I owe you about a hundred hours of listening time. I've gotta repay you somehow."

Our eyes met and I knew instantly we were crossing another boundary. We'd silently negotiated a few in the months I had been treating him like when I first told him about my Native American heritage, and my belief in several aspects of alternative medicine. There had been another quiet crossing when he had told me about his relationship with his brother. As I'd listened to him, I got the feeling I was being given an insider's look at a part of Sam that he shared with very few people. And now, he was extending an offer that would require me to reveal a similarly private part of my life own life.

For reasons, I couldn't fully understand at the time, I took him up on it.

"You've caught me on a rough day," I finally admitted.

"How so?"

"Well, let's just say it's the day I accepted the fact that I'll never be a mother."

"Seriously?" Sam said softly.

"Seriously," I ran my hands over my face and looked down at my desk.

"Did you get some kind of test results or something?" I could hear the concern in Sam's voice and when I looked up it was reflected in his eyes.

"No results. I just decided to end my fertility treatment."

"But why? It sounds like you really want to be a mother."

"I've been trying for about four years now, Sam. I've been on a treatment regime for the last two. I can't continue like this. It's affecting my relationship my husband, it's wreaking havoc with my emotions, and ruining my entire sense of well-being. Everyone who cares about me has pretty much told me to stop but you know when you want something so badly you're just not prepared to listen to anyone."

"Yeah," Sam said emphatically closing his eyes and exhaling loudly. I knew without a doubt he must have had a similar experience.

"You see I've never failed at anything major before because I've always been prepared to do whatever it takes. So whether it was working my butt off to get into Harvard Med or practicing medicine and doing research to excel in both the professional and academic streams, I've never been afraid to do what I need to do to get what I want. I had my amazing, multi-facetted, medical career, my loving, supportive husband, who's got a pretty amazing medical career himself, and now what I really want is my family. But I'm over forty and I've miscarried twice. I've been to the best fertility experts money can buy, I think I've tried every existing treatment regime and nothing's worked. So now I think it's time to heed the advice everyone's been giving me. It's time to stop punishing my body, not to mention my spirit."

"I'm really sorry it hasn't worked out."

"Not nearly as sorry as I am, Sam."

"What about your husband, does he think you should stop trying?"

"He wanted to stop about six months ago. He said he couldn't stand to see what all of this was doing to me. But I felt like I had to keep going for both of us. I really wanted to make him a father. I wanted to have his child. And now, I feel like I've let him down so badly."

To voice the disappointment I'd kept hidden inside for so long was so overwhelming that I covered my face and looked away again. Then I actually admitted to Sam what I swore I'd never say aloud to another human being. "I can't believe I'm never going to have a child. I'll never be anyone's mother. I'll never get to love someone that unconditionally and unselfishly, and it just doesn't seem fair."

I couldn't cry in front of a patient, let alone an eighteen year old male patient.

I breathed deeply, reaching desperately for my dignity and trying hard to regain some semblance of composure.

Sam, reached across the desk and took both my hands in his, squeezing gently and reassuringly. "It's OK, Dr. Shayne," he said soothingly. "I know it must be hard."

Feeling the transfer of calming, positive energy, I sat there and maintained the contact even if it may have been considered professionally inappropriate. At that moment I wasn't an accomplished medical scholar and practitioner but an ordinary woman who'd had to admit that she was incapable of carrying out her most natural biological function. I needed to draw from the strength and support that Sam was transferring through his touch or I would fall apart completely.

After a few moments, I met his eyes and told him, without words, that I would be alright.

"Thank you," I whispered. "And that's not from your doctor, that's from your friend."

"Don't mention it," he released my hands slowly and held my gaze until he was sure I'd be alright.

"I'm fine," I said honestly.

"Then can I say something?"

"Of course."

"I'm really sorry you can't get pregnant Dr. Shayne but if you really want to be a mother, I don't think you should let that stop you."

"Are you talking about adoption?"

"I'm talking about life. Mothering isn't just about biology or about a legal relationship between an adult and a child; it's about loving unconditionally and unselfishly like you said. And so many people, young and old, need it so badly. I think you'll make an incredible mother to anyone you choose to love like that."

I knew Sam's mother had died when he was a baby and from what he'd told me there had been no female surrogate who had stood in the gap. I think this was another reason I'd taken an interest in him, as a childless woman my heart had gone out to this motherless boy.

"My husband started hinting about adoption a few months ago," I confided. "But I dismissed the argument immediately. To me, it meant an admission of failure."

"You think you'd be prepared to talk about it again now?"

"Maybe," I conceded. "He's in Asia for a month. Every year we go on a medical programme overseas to give health care to underserved communities. Only this time I didn't go because I didn't want the inoculations to affect my chances of getting pregnant. I think he's hoping I'll come to my senses by the time he gets back."

"There's so much good a couple like the two of you could do; the possibilities really are endless. It might be a lot to think about now because I know it's been a very disappointing day, but to be honest Dr. Shayne, I'm kinda excited for you. And I'm thrilled for any child who's lucky enough to have any kind of relationship with you."

"That means a lot to me."

I was surprised when he snickered uncharacteristically in response.

"What?" I asked.

"Don't take this the wrong way," he said cautiously. "But if you were having this conversation with my brother he'd make sure that it ended with you laughing. He'd say something like "Adoption is a win/win; you'd get a baby and you get to keep your figure."

When I could only stare at Sam flabbergasted, he looked instantly apologetic. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have even gone there. I never did have Dean's knack for a smooth delivery."

The very thought of what he'd said was so absurdly inappropriate that I suddenly found myself laughing.

"If this is the brother that raised you how did you turn out so politically correct?"

"Trust me; it's not that he didn't try."

I was silently grateful for Dean and the lightness he had been able to create in absentia. It provided a timely segue.

"Now, about your insomnia," I said with just enough authority to indicate that I taking back over the session. "Rather than increasing your dosage of Citroval I'd like you to try a new medication called Bensovan. It's part of what they're calling the new generation of sleep medications and it's powerful but gentle."

"Sure. I'll try it."

I wrote the prescription quickly knowing my next patient was probably outside giving my assistant dirty looks.

"Now you know the procedure, Sam. I have to monitor you closely while you're taking sleep meds. So please make an appointment to see in the next two weeks."

"Yes, Doc," he smiled." It was the first time he called me that but I figured given today's conversation, a more casual, familiar moniker was probably in order. "And the medication should be taken half hour before bedtime, when I can get at least eight hours sleep and it should not be consumed with alcohol. I know the drill."

"Good," I tore the prescription from the pad and handed it over. "Get some rest."

"Thanks."

When he opened the door, I called out before I could stop myself. "Will you let me know if you hear from Dean?"

As soon as the words were spoken, I wondered if I had crossed another line.

"I will, Doc." Sam said sincerely.

Apparently I hadn't.

Sam was smiling when he left my office so I was horrified to get a call that weekend saying he had collapsed.

His roommate phoned me from the college hospital hysterical to the point of incoherence and I had just jumped in my car and drove like a mad woman.

"What happened?" I asked the agitated young man when he met me at the hospital entrance.

"I don't know, man," he said still clearly rattled by the morning's occurrence. "I came back from my shower and found him passed out on the floor. He'd left before I did saying he was going to get the mail and then when I got back to the room to get ready for work, I found him. I called 911. I couldn't find any emergency contacts in his cell phone so I went through his wallet and saw an appointment card with your number on it, and I called you. I guess, I was kinda just freaking out and calling his doctor seemed like a smart thing to do, I don't know."

"It's fine," I put a calming hand on his shoulder. "Has anyone said anything to you? Do you know what's wrong?"

"No. I just drove behind the ambulance because I didn't want him to be alone but I gotta get to work. If I'm late again, they'll can me even if my roommate passing out seems like a good excuse."

"That's fine. You get going. I'll speak to the doctor and see what's going on and I'll try to get in touch with Sam's family."

"Thanks, Doctor," the young man, whose name I never did get seemed quite relieved to pass the mantel of responsibility. He handed over Sam's cell phone and his wallet, which I shoved into my purse, and then he quickly departed.

I hurried into the hospital praying that Sam was alright. I was still battling the emotional distress of my infertility and knew I couldn't handle seeing any kind of serious harm come to this young man, who I was beginning to care about deeply. Before I approached the nurse's station I stopped and said a brief prayer asking God to protect Sam and bring him through whatever had befallen him with his mind, body, and spirit intact.

Faithful and composed, I went to enquire about Sam's condition. I knew many of the medical professionals at the hospital and thankfully the physician in charge, Dr. Winbecker, was a reasonably close associate.

"Sam Winchester is my patient," I told him. "I just saw him this week and he was fine. What's going on?"

"Did you prescribe the Bensovan?"

"Yes, I did. He's been having chronic insomnia for several weeks. I had him on Citroval but it wasn't working and his condition was getting worse."

"He's had a severe reaction to the Bensovan, but we got it in time. He's going to be alright."

"Can I see him?"

"He's in his room but we've given him a pretty high dose of antihistamines I think he should be out cold by now."

"I still need to see him."

"Sure," Dr. Winbecker gestured to the Nurses' Station with his head. "The ladies will tell you where."

"We need to contact his next of kin," the nurse who led me to Sam's room said. "Can you help us with that, Dr. Shayne?"

"I'll see what I can do," I pledged, although I didn't have the first clue how I could reach Sam's mysterious family.

"And we have his personal effects labelled and stored to return to him," the Nurse informed me as she came to a stop outside room 121.

"I'll come and get them later."

"Thank you," she said giving me a brief pat on the shoulder before walking away.

I took a deep breath and then pushed the door open and went straight to Sam's bedside. I leaned over the railing of the surgical bed and barely stopped myself from pushing his long, feathered bangs away from his face. I reminded myself that we were in a hospital and as his physician I needed to maintain professional conduct. But everything inside me wanted to reach out and offer a comforting touch. I couldn't bear to think of Sam frighten, hurting, and alone. He may have been the size of a hulk but he was still a teenager, on his own for the first time in his life.

My heart almost stopped when his eyes fluttered open. He looked at me sleepily like he was struggling to focus.

"Dr. Shayne?" he asked weakly.

"I'm right here Sam," I said softly.

"What are you doing here?"

"Your roommate called me. I came as soon as I heard you weren't well but I've spoken to the doctor who treated you, and you're going to be fine."

"No I'm not," Sam mumbled. "I feel awful Doc."

"That's because they've given you a strong dose of antihistamines which is heavily sedating. You're going to be alright Sam."

"Doc my head feels so heavy," Sam sounded so childlike it was disconcerting. "I don't have the energy to keep fighting."

"You need to rest Sam. Just close your eyes and sleep."

"I can't. I don't know what will happen to me and I haven't read it yet."

"Read what?"

"My letter from Dean."

It was foolish for my heart to start racing in my chest.

"He wrote to you?"

"Yeah. I'd just picked up my mail and I got a letter from him. I brought it back to my room to read it and then I woke up here. Dr. Shayne you've got to get my letter for me."

"Sam, you need to get some sleep."

"No," he set his mouth in a stubborn line. "If I go to sleep, I don't know what will happen. I can't Doc, not until I've heard from Dean."

He wanted his brother, I realised. With that much medication in his system it most likely felt that death and not sleep was overpowering him. He was frightened and vulnerable and he wanted his big brother.

I could give him that much. It may not have been appropriate for me to comfort him physically but at least I could give him Dean.

"Can you remember what you did with the letter?"

"It was in my jacket."

"O.K," I said calmly. "So it must be with your personal effects. I'll get it for you."

I said another quick prayer that nothing had happened to displace the letter between when Sam fainted and his eventual arrival at the hospital. I paused to thank God again when I found the envelope with Sam's name and address scrawled on it, safely in the interior pocket of his jacket.

"I have it right here," I announced waving the letter triumphantly as I re-entered Sam's room. Stubbornly, he was still awake, fighting the sedation until the only part of Dean he could currently lay claim to was close by. "I'm going to leave it right here on your bedside table and as soon as you wake up and you're feeling better, you can read it."

"No," he objected obstinately. "I want you to read it to me before I fall asleep."

He was tired, overwhelmed and not thinking straight, which is the only reason why he would have even suggested that I read his private letter.

"Sam," I said gently. "I know you feel like you're dying but you're not. It's just the medication. You'll have the best rest you've had in months and then you'll feel better when you wake up and you can read your letter from Dean."

"Doc, please," he looked at me so beseechingly that my heart melted.

"Sam, this is privileged correspondence between you and your brother. I can't read something so deeply personal."

"I need my big brother Doc. And this is only way I can think of."

What was left of my feeble resistance literally melted away and I opened the envelope. I swallowed hard knowing I was going to cross the ultimate boundary and get an unfettered look at the bond Sam and his brother shared.

"_Dear Sammy,"_I began.

"He called me Sammy," Sam whispered. "That means he's not mad at me anymore. If he was still angry, he would have called me Sam."

He may have been in the grips of sedation, but Sam sounded as delighted as a ten-year-old. After several days in my personal emotional doldrums the joyful sound of his voice was elating.

Encouraged, I read on: "_I swear the only person on the planet who can get me to do something this lame is you. Yes, little brother, I got your letter. And as loathed as I am to admit it, when I read it, I knew I'd have to reply."_

I had to snicker at the good-natured sarcasm and when I glanced at Sam, he was grinning too. "I told you it was a good idea to write him," I said, reaching out to pull his ear playfully. "You see now why you should always follow your doctor's orders?"

Happy that the letter was lifting his spirits, I read some more: _"You probably won't remember, but the year I turned fourteen - when we spent most of the summer at Bobby's - my summer fling, Cindy Newton, accused me of breaking her heart when we had to hit the road again. I thought she was kinda silly to have put herself in a position where I could have done that in the first place and so deep down, I wasn't particularly sympathetic._

_Well, the day you left for Stanford without saying goodbye, I think Cindy Newton was somewhere saying "vengeance is mine." And me, I was left with the realisation that a broken heart doesn't necessarily have to do with anything romantic. It's when someone you figure you can't live without essentially says they can do just fine without you._

_I thought that was what you were saying when you went away. And you know me, I can deal with practically anything, but I found I just couldn't handle that._

_When I accepted that you were really gone, I knew I was gonna miss you like hell. But nothing prepared me for how empty I felt being without my annoying, pain in the butt, geek brother."_

"_You've always bugged the hell out of me but it's just been so hard not having you around. I keep expecting you to come through the door and start talking to me about some useless historical information you've discovered, or some boring book you're reading. I keep expecting to get one of your silly 'just because' text messages. The kind that always made me roll my eyes but to be honest, kinda made me happy, too. The kind that say nothing but say everything._

_As pathetic as it sounds, it's those girlie, nerdy things you used to do that always reminded me that I wasn't alone in this messed up world. Without saying a word you constantly found a way to tell me that no matter how bad things got, I'd always have my little brother and somehow Sam, you were always enough."_

"_You were enough to get me through the times when I missed Mom or when I was worried about Dad. Or when Dad was mad at me, or worse, disappointed with something I did or didn't do."_

"_When you were little you'd crawl into my lap, reach for my hand, or lift your arms for me to pick you up and no matter what was happening, I'd instantly feel better. Then when you got older you'd always want to talk and you'd need me to listen, and being there for you reminded me why I was here in the first place. And sometimes, it was when you didn't say a thing. You'd just sit beside me or ride shotgun with me and you'd seem happy to just be there, and that always made me feel special._

"I'm sorry," Sam cut in again. He closed his eyes as if he was trying to process his brother's words. "I just need a minute Doc."

I reached down and took his hand. He laced his fingers through mine, needing to draw something from me this time. I squeezed his hand hard returning the love and reassurance he had given to me when I'd needed it so desperately.

Professional appropriateness be damned. If fate had put me at Sam's bedside when he needed someone to comfort him I wasn't going to stand here and caved under the fear of being cited for unprofessional conduct.

"It's O.K," I soothed and then resumed my reading when he opened his eyes and nodded for me to continue.

"_And trust me as soon as I got over being mad as hell with you for leaving, I really planned to be proud of you for having the courage to strike out on your own. I'm sorry that I never got a chance to congratulate you for being brilliant enough to get the taxpayers to foot the bill for your high priced college education. And the next time I see you, I have to buy you a drink, but that's after I kick your butt for being pigheaded, stubborn, and infuriating enough to actually get up and go._

"_I'm also gonna kick your butt for making me cry when I read your letter. And I'll kick it again if you ever repeat that to anyone living or dead._

_On top of that, I'm gonna beat the crap out of you because everything you wrote made me feel like a damn hypocrite. Sure I raised you to be independent but that really didn't mean that you were actually supposed to be able to live without your big brother. I'm happy that you think I helped you to find the courage to go after what you want, but it killed me to have to let you go. And of course, like the awesome big brother I am, I taught you how to be a man, but I wasn't prepared for you to grow up so fast._

_The thing is, everything about the way you left for Stanford just said you didn't need me anymore. It was easier to be mad as hell at you for that rather than admit that it hurt me so much, I wanted to cry like a kid who had been by-passed by Santa on Christmas Day._

I stopped to glance up at Sam. His eyes were closed again and silent tears were streaming down his face. I leaned over and gently wiped them away only to realise that my own eyes had filled up and were flowing over. I ran the back of my hand across my face and then turned my attention back to the letter.

_And call me selfish but your letter, which essentially said in so many ways you're still a freaking baby, was kinda heart-warming to read. I guess it's good to know I'm not the only one suffering from this stupid separation anxiety._

_I'm really grateful for all you said in your letter but don't think that because I'm the big brother, I haven't learned a few things from you too._

_Sam, because of you I know that it's possible to love someone more than your own life, and when it's reciprocal it's something that can get you through the worse times._

_You taught me that hugs aren't bad, in fact, when you get over feeling awkward for acting like a ten year old girl, they're OK. Talking is OK too. But what's really special is realising that there's someone who will listen no matter where the hell you are, or what time of day it is when the words decide to come pouring out in spite of all you've done to hold them back. You're that someone for me._

_You've also helped me to see that trust is rare and priceless and so are the people who earn it. And when you find someone you trust with your life, you don't think twice about doing anything for them. And on that note, in case you didn't know, let me tell you that there really isn't anything that I wouldn't do for you, Sammy."_

Now I was the one who needed a minute. I had to swallow down the sobs that were rising in my throat and quell the tide of emotion that was sweeping over me. In my life I'd been fortunate to feel passionate, unconditional love. I'd felt it for my family, my husband and even my calling. But to see a love this pure and unrelenting was as overwhelming as it was euphoric.

I didn't think I would be able to read anymore without breaking down. But I realised that Sam was depending on me and I steeled myself to get through the final sentences.

"_And one last thing – because this really is going on too long – most kids that go off to college know they always have a home to go back to. Don't feel for one minute that you're any different. I'll always be here for you, so if you ever feel 'homesick' just pick up the phone and give me a call. And if you need something, and I mean anything, don't even think twice about asking._

_I know you don't have a picket fence or even a fixed address but you do have a big brother who loves you more than anything, and that's something you can always go back to any time you like. So call me whenever you wanna come home._

_Love,_

_Dean."_

I released Sam's hand so I could fold the letter and put it on the night stand. Then I looked down at him, not sure what to do or say now.

Sam was overcome and sobbing openly at his brother's heartfelt declarations. "See what I mean Doc," he said tearfully, straining valiantly against the pull of sedation. "You don't have to give birth to someone to mother them. You just have to love them with all you've got."

I abandoned all attempts to save face and maintain even a modicum of my professional composure. I leaned over and laid my head on Sam's chest and let the flood of tears flow out of me. Weakly Sam brought his hand up and stroked my hair gently.

"It's going to be OK," he assured me gently. "You're going to be the best mother to whoever you choose to love."

We stayed like that for a several moments while I wept with abandon and Sam cried too. Sam may have lost his mother at an early age but he certainly hadn't missed out on being mothered. His big brother who had neither conceived nor given birth had been the most loving and devoted mother Sam could ever have wanted. This mystifying Dean, who I'd never met and may never know, was showing me that motherhood was so much more than biology. You could choose to be someone's mother just by loving and supporting them and being there for them no matter what.

I put my arms around Sam's limp body and squeezed him tight until we both stopped crying. Then I gently pulled away from him and leaned forward to caress his cheek and run my hands through his hair.

"Go to sleep now Sam," I said gently, feeling a rush of affection for this gentle giant with such a childlike heart. "Everything's fine. In every way that matters your brother's right here with you and so am I."

Finally, he closed his eyes and turned his head into the pillow. "Night doc," he said lazily, although it was broad daylight.

"Goodnight Sam."

I stood at his bedside until I was sure he was deep in sleep and then I pulled up a chair, determined to be there when he woke up. As I listened to his even breathing I was reminded of one of my Grandfather's favourite sayings, "There is no coincidence, only fate".

There had to be a reason why I was here with Sam at such a significant moment. There had to be a reason why he took me into his confidence and allowed me to see, what I suspect he revealed to very few people; the unbelievable love and devotion he had for his brother and the unrelenting force with which it was reciprocated. Just the thought of it had tears streaming down my face again.

I dug in my hand bag for a tissue to dry my eyes and that's when I saw Sam's cell phone.

I grasped the sleek device and flipped it open, found the contact list and scrolled down to D.

There had to be a reason why I had been drawn into the circle of these two brothers.

And it was clear to me now.

I selected Dean's cell number and pressed the button to dial.

**TO BE CONTINUED**

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**There's definitely more to come. Watch this space. **


	12. Face To Face

**I Wish I Was Your Brother**

**A/N: **This marks the continuation of the Letters story arc. It picks up right after, chapter 11, "Privileged Correspondence". In order to get the proper context and all the inferences I am recommending that anyone who hasn't already read the full story arc at least read "Privileged Correspondence" and chapter ten "Written Instructions".

**A/N: **I never get a chance to send review replies to my anonymous reviewers so I'd like to say a special thanks to everyone who reviews anonymously.

**A/N: ** Beta services provided by Ericka Jane. My fics never leave home without her!

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**-TWELVE-**

**Face To Face**

I knew that I wasn't the person Sam would want to see when he woke up in the hospital. But since I had tried and failed to reach his big brother, Dean, I took up my position at his bedside and waited.

I had found Dean's number in Sam's cell phone and called him only to be answered by voicemail. As I had dialled and waited out the rings I had been formulating what I would say to this stranger who was somehow familiar. While I'd listened to Sam talk about his brother, I had formed an image of Dean in my head. As Sam had described how his older sibling had doted on him I pictured a slightly overweight young man with soft features who was as mild mannered as Sam.

When I heard the voicemail recording I planned to leave a detailed message only to be thwarted by technology. I only managed to say that I was calling from Stanford and that Sam was in the hospital before the phone beeped loudly, a red low battery icon started blinking furiously and within a few seconds the handset was dead.

If there was any day in his life when Sam should have had his cell charged today was it. When the phone gave out, it took with it all my chances of reaching Dean. Now, as I watched Sam getting the first real restful sleep he'd had since being separated from his brother, my heart tinged with regret. I knew that more than anything he wanted Dean and I felt a deep sense of disappointment that I had not been able to help with that.

Given all he had told me about how close he and his brother had been, I knew I would be a poor substitute. However, I didn't want Sam waking up alone in a hospital room so I decided to stay.

The morning and afternoon hours dragged by slowly while I sat there with him. Finally late in the evening, my husband called and I stepped into Sam's restroom so I wouldn't disturb him with our conversation.

"Dr. David Caitlin," I cooed sweetly. "Are you reporting from the trenches?"

He laughed easily. "Yeah, I'm checking in to find out how my favourite girl's doing without me."

Just hearing David's voice got me emotional. He was in Asia for a month giving voluntary medical service. Two weeks had passed since he left and I missed him so much it hurt.

I hadn't told him that in the few weeks he had been away I had stopped fertility treatment and effectively ended our dream of being parents. Although he had asked me to discontinue to the treatment regime several months earlier I wondered how he would feel about the finality of my decision. However, I didn't want to have this conversation with him over the phone. I needed to see his face when I told him to judge for myself if he was truly OK with not ever being a father. More than that, I needed time to get over feeling like I had failed him in the worst possible way by not giving him a child.

"Your favourite girl is going out of her mind missing you," I confessed. "How are you, honey?"

"Emotionally and physically exhausted. I've been posted to a province in South Korea where they had a pretty bad earthquake. I've been working at an orphanage where they're keeping a lot of the children whose parents were killed."

"No wonder you're tired," I said sympathetically, feeling another twinge of guilt that I wasn't there with him. We had always done our voluntary overseas medical service together. "Those children must be so badly shaken up."

"They're traumatised. I can't really reach out to them because I don't speak the language, so I just have to treat them physically. There's so much grief and suffering here it's so hard to see. I treated these two little American kids and one of them hasn't said a word since the earthquake."

"Americans?"

"Yeah. Apparently their parents were Peace Corp workers. The older brother was playing out in their garden when the quake hit. Part of their home collapse and in the middle of everything he ran back in to get his little brother. He barely managed to get out with the little one before the house came down. They're parents didn't survive."

"Oh no," I whispered. "How old are these boys?"

"The older one is five and the little one is two. They're both severely withdrawn but the younger one is particularly bad; he'll only communicate with his big brother."

"Are you getting through to them?" I asked, knowing he would have made it his mission to get them to trust him enough to let him care for them.

"I am, but it's taking a lot of time. And I wish you were here. You'd administer your own special brand of physical and emotional medical care."

"Funny you should mention that," I segued. "I'm on a mission of my own today."

"What's wrong?"

"You remember that patient I told you about, Sam Winchester?"

"The freshman who's an expert on Native American folklore?"

"The very same one," I rolled my eyes although he couldn't see me. "He had an allergic reaction to a medication I prescribed for him and he's in the hospital. He should be fine but I'm staying here with him until I can see for myself that he's really O.K."

"That's why I wish you were here babe. No one cares more than you."

"I wish I could be with you too. But something tells me this is where I need to be right now."

"O.K. You make sure Sam's alright."

"And you take care of those kids."

After we said goodbye, I was stepping out of the bathroom when Sam's room door opened suddenly and a young man walked in. He moved swiftly to Sam's bedside where he stood for several moments staring at Sam's sleeping form.

"Excuse me," I said causing him to whip around suddenly.

I found myself staring at what a romance writer would most likely have described as a 'devilishly handsome' man. Between the chiselled features accentuated by striking hazel eyes and the faded jeans and worn flannel covering the muscular body, there was something almost feral about him.

"What's wrong with him?" the stranger demanded, gesturing to Sam with his head.

"He's fine," my first instinct was always to reassure, even if I had no clue who I was talking to. "He had a severe allergic reaction but everything is O.K. He's just in a very deep sleep now because of the medication they had to give him."

The young man looked back at Sam and then faced me again looking visibly relieved.

And then, he did a double-take. The transition to flirt was so slick an untrained eye might have missed it. But I saw the appraising look as he studied me, the inviting glint in his eye and the coy smile that was tailor-made to disarm even the most resistant female.

"Well, well," he said appreciatively. "I see Sam's taste has gotten exotic."

"Excuse me?"

"I said you're exotic," he repeated brashly. "And don't worry; you won't catch me calling a stunner like you a cougar."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Hey, let's be honest, you're a little bit above Sam's age group but I'll give you this, you still look hot."

"I don't believe this."

"No trust me, you do. Anyway sweetie, I need to see a doctor."

"I _am_ a doctor," I insisted.

"No kidding? Well Sam always did make a big deal about having intellectual as well as visual stimulation. He scored a double whammy with you honey; I'll give him credit for that. But actually I need to see _his_ doctor."

I folded my arms and fixed him with a reprimanding stare.

"I _am his_ doctor."

He snickered. "Sam's seeing his doctor," he contemplated the notion. "Sounds a little kinky but I guess it's California right?"

"No!" I insisted, horrified at the thought. "Nobody's seeing anybody. I'm Sam's GP nothing more."

"Then what are you doing at his bedside without your white coat?"

"I mean nothing romantic. He's my friend. Who the devil are you?"

"I'm his brother."

My heart stopped.

"Dean?"

"That would be me."

"_You're_ Dean?"

"I thought we had established that."

I could only stare at him flabbergasted, trying to come to terms with the vast difference between the image I'd had in my head and the reality right before me.

_This_was the big brother who had tucked Sam in every night and had comforted him through night terrors and restless sleep? The man in front of me looked more like a hellraiser than a babysitter.

"You're Sam's brother?"

"You've heard of me?"

"Ahh ... yes."

"Don't tell me," with what looked like a well practiced move, he slipped a cocksure grin in place. "Little brother forgot to mention that I'm not exactly the Stanford type."

He tried to sound amused but I could hear the underlying tone of defiance and I could literally see the defensive wall coming up.

What was at play here? Did the much revered Dean actually think his little brother was somehow ashamed of him?

And because I knew that sometimes the toughest exteriors covered the deepest insecurities I shrugged easily and said, "You know little brothers; even if they don't actually use the word 'awesome' that's all they convey."

He relaxed visibly but his guard didn't come down.

I extended my hand. "I'm Dr. Rayen Shayne. I'm the one who called."

He accepted the offered hand and shook.

"Oh," he raised his eyebrows. "Didn't catch the off-limits sign."

I realised he was looking at the diamond adorned platinum rings on my left hand.

"That's a novel way of putting it," I said glancing down at my fingers.

With the introductions finished, Dean glanced back at his brother. "Did Sam ask you to call me?"

"Again, it wasn't so much what he said but what he conveyed."

"What exactly happened?"

"He's been battling insomnia since he moved here. It was getting worse and he asked to go on medication. We tried one medicine and it didn't work so I prescribed something else. He had a severe allergic reaction to the second drug."

Dean turned back to me, eyes blazing with pent up ferocity. "What's the point of you doctors spending ten years in your damn fancy schools when the meds you're prescribing are killing of people faster than anything else?"

"I prescribed an approved medication which in my professional opinion was appropriate for your brother's condition," I defended calmly.

"Clearly not appropriate enough or he wouldn't have ended up here," Dean gestured angrily towards the bed.

I sensed that the fact that my malpractice insurance coverage was fully up to date would mean very little when dealing with someone like Dean Winchester. The man giving me the angry stare-down wouldn't want a penny in compensation for any discomfort his brother may have suffered while under my care. His idea of recompense would be to take me out to the parking lot and beat me senseless.

I could not believe that this was the person who had written that heartfelt letter to Sam. I just couldn't reconcile those words that had reduced me to copious tears with this man who looked like he was about to skin me alive.

"Dean," I said reasonably, "I deeply regret that the medicine didn't agree with him but I've been reassured by the doctor who treated him that he should be fine. He's just going to need a lot of rest because the medication they're using to combat the allergy is going to keep him sedated."

"For your sake, I hope that's the case."

"Dean?" It was said so softly that I would have missed it if Dean hadn't turned around instantly and headed to Sam's bedside. I glanced over and saw that Sam's eyes were closed but one hand was moving around slowly on the side of the bed, feeling for contact, reaching out.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean easily took his brother's hand in his and squeezed.

"Dean?" Sam repeated, struggling to open his eyes.

He shouldn't have been waking up yet. Not with all the drugs he had in his system. How could he have heard his brother's voice in that fog of sedation?

"I'm right here," Dean said reaching out with his other hand to ruffle his brother's hair.

When Sam's eyes opened, he starred up in disbelief. Slowly, he brought his free hand to his face to rub the sleep from his eyes. Then he blinked drowsily several times as if trying to determine if it was a dream or reality.

"It's me Sam," Dean said softly, immediately recognising the uncertainty and confusion. "I'm here."

"Dean?" Sam tried to raise himself up but Dean put a gentle, restraining hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, don't get up," he coaxed. "It's OK Sam, it's really me."

"How?"

"Your doctor called me. Said you were in the hospital."

As drowsy as Sam was he managed to sit up. "And you came?"

"Of course I came Sammy." Dean's soothing tone contrasted greatly with the angry bark that he had directed at me. "There's no way I'd leave you alone when you're sick."

With a shuddering sigh Sam laid his head against Dean's stomach, brought his arms up and around his brother's back and held on to him. Under the power of the sedating medication, he didn't have the wherewithal to maintain any kind of composure. His guard was down totally and the raw emotions were spilling out like blood running from a gaping wound.

"I was afraid," Sam muttered. "So afraid I wouldn't get to see you."

Left undone by the unbridled outpouring Dean leaned over and hugged Sam, resting his cheek on the top of his brother's head. "It's OK Sammy," he said, his own voice trembling. "I'm right here."

"Sorry." Sam mumbled and I could hear the tears in his voice. "So sorry."

"I'm sorry too."

Speechless, I stood watching them barely managing to keep my own emotions under control. I stepped out of the room quickly, to give them their space and to take mine. But as soon as I was outside, I'm ashamed to admit; I turned around and continued watching through the small glass window in the room door. Now Sam was sobbing, clinging to his brother like letting go would mean losing his life.

And so help me god, the sharp-tongued, shark-eyed man who had confronted me was now holding his little brother, rubbing his back and talking to him, no doubt using the same calming tone that had surprised me earlier. If I hadn't seen the gentle gestures and heard the soothing words for myself I would never have believed that Dean was capable of such an uninhibited display of affection.

I recognised a mother's touch in the way Dean held and calmed Sam. In fact everything about the unembarrassed way that Sam reached out for comfort and the unconstrained way in which that comfort was given seemed to telegraph parent and child.

Breathing out hard I turned away and began pacing the corridor outside Sam's room. Even as I reminded myself that this was about Sam and not about me, I knew my own arms were aching to hold and comfort a child like that.

With Dean here there really wasn't any reason for me to stay but I didn't want to leave until I was sure that Sam would be O.K. Several minutes later I was still contemplating if I should stay or go when the door opened and Dean stuck his head out.

"He's asking for you," he told me, shooting me a warning glare. Even as a childless woman I could spot the look of a mother wolf warning that she would not tolerate another maternal influence on her young cub.

Silently I re-entered the room and made it a point to approach Sam's bed on the left side since Dean had been standing on the right. I hoped it was clear that I had no intention of challenging big brother for pole position.

"Hey Rip VanWrinkle," I said reaching for Sam's hand.

"Hi Doc," he responded softly.

"Did you rest well?"

"Yeah," he smiled tiredly, the combination of the medication and fatigue made him look childlike and fragile.

"Try to get some more sleep Sam," I advised, running my hand through his hair and then letting it rest against his cheek. "You're still exhausted."

"Thanks for getting my brother for me," he said drowsily.

"I know that's what you wanted," I stroked his cheek with the back of my fingers.

"Will you stay?" he asked, his eyelids lowering heavily. "I hate hospitals. You're the only doctor I trust."

Immediately I looked over at Dean, asking permission.

He nodded.

"Of course I'll stay," I said blinking furiously when I felt tears stinging my eyes. "You just rest and don't worry about a thing."

Then Sam's attention was squarely back on his brother as if Dean would disappear if Sam allowed him to stray from his line of sight.

"It's O.K. Sammy," Dean said in the gentle tone I now suspected was used exclusively for addressing a distressed little brother. "I'll be right here when you wake up."

It was exactly what Sam needed to hear and he drifted off peacefully leaving Dean and I to glance wearily at each other across his bed.

Dean took a seat at the small table in the corner of the room across from Sam's bed and gestured with his head to offer the remaining chair to me.

"Did he seem O.K to you?" he asked when I was seated across the table from him.

"Yes," I responded. "He just needs to rest. He hasn't slept well for several weeks now."

He appeared to be considering but apparently my answer didn't satisfy him completely.

"He's always been kinda clingy when he gets sick but this was extreme even for him."

"It's the medication. He's on strong antihistamines to combat the allergic reaction so he's heavily sedated, which essentially means he won't have his guard up at all. You'd be amazed at the effort we make as human beings to put our game faces on. He won't be able to do that with all these drugs in his system, so what you'll see are very raw emotions and expressions. It's almost like they've given him a truth serum."

Dean shivered visibly at the idea of such extreme vulnerability.

"Remind me never to get allergic to anything."

"The good thing is, he's not around strangers. From what he's told me he trusts you implicitly. So if there's anyone he should be able to express his unedited feelings to it should be you."

I noted that Dean's face reddened slightly and understood completely when he didn't continue my line of conversation.

"Do you know what caused the insomnia?"

"Whose assessment do you want, Sam's or mine?'

"They differ?"

"Somewhat."

"What was his?"

"He thought he was stressed out from working part time and carrying a full course load."

"And yours?"

"I think he was quietly traumatised about being separated from you for the first time in his life and the insomnia is how his fears were manifested."

I noted he was blushing again.

"If you're a GP what's with all the psychiatry?"

"Because I got my formal medical training at Harvard Med but prior to that my teacher was my grandfather, Chief Rivermoore Shayne. He believed that every illness starts in the heart and for real healing to take place you have to treat the underlying emotional causes as well as the physical symptoms."

"So you're half witch doctor and half doctor doctor?"

"Pretty much."

"Leave it to Sammy to have a certified GP who's a faith healer," Dean shook his head smiling fondly.

"Yeah, we clicked from the first appointment," I smiled too. "I see so many kids that sometimes they all just blend together in my head but I knew from the first time we met that Sam was special."

Dean looked at me contemplatively, seemingly reassessing.

"Now can I ask you a question?" I ventured.

"Sure?"

"How the devil did you find Sam? The phone went dead before I could leave any significant details."

"You said you were calling from Stanford and Sam was in the hospital that was enough to go on."

I had a feeling that was all he would say on the matter so I left it at that.

We meandered into a relaxed companionable conversation that had me marvelling a bit that we had only met a few hours before. His apparently inbuilt sense of suspicion seemed to wane as our discussion meandered across a range of subjects and without either of us realising it the hours flew by.

Near midnight, the calm, easy mood changed when Sam began stirring restlessly in his sleep and calling out for his brother. Dean was on his feet and at Sam's side almost instantly.

"D'n?" Sam muttered, one hand feeling around on the bed.

"I'm right here," Dean grasped the wondering hand and bent over to look closer at his brother.

He frowned and brought his palm to Sam's forehead and then to his neck.

"Crap!" Dean cursed. "He's running a fever."

Quickly, I joined Dean at Sam's bedside. I reached for Sam's hand to check his pulse and was a bit concerned that it was beating rapidly. I used the intercom button to page the nursing staff.

"Mr. Winchester is running a fever," I said when I received a response on the intercom. "Can we have someone come and check on him please?"

Almost instantaneously a nurse entered the room.

"I need Tylenol and ice," Dean barked at her.

"Dean you're in a hospital," I reminded. "You can't give orders to the medical staff."

"The hell I can't," Dean said agitatedly. "It's my brother we're dealing with."

"Sir, could you please step outside and let me attend to the patient," the nurse said.

"I'm not going anywhere," Dean insisted.

"Dean," I pressed. "Let's let the nurse do her job."

"Taking care of Sammy is _my_ job," Dean argued.

"Sir if you don't leave now I'll have to call security."

"Dean," I warned. "Do not make a big deal out of this. You're of no use to Sam if they throw you out. Let's just take a walk and let the nurse look after him."

"Sammy," Dean took his brother's hand briefly. "I'm right outside."

I put a firm hand on Dean's arm and guided him out of the room before he could change his mind. He tensed under my grip but I didn't let go until I closed the door behind us.

"What the hell is going on?" he demanded. "Why is he running a fever?"

"It happens when you're recovering from a severe allergic reaction," I explained. "You need to calm down Dean, it's nothing to worry about."

"That's easy for you to say it's not your little brother who's in the hospital. Frankly, I don't know how you can be so damn calm all the time. Are you naturally composed or just well medicated?"

"In my experience I've found that it makes very little sense for the doctor to panic."

"So nothing riles you up?"

"I try not to make things get to me. Besides, my husband has enough angst for all of us. I keep telling him no self-respecting WASP is so impetuous."

Again he considered me with his reassessing stare. "So you went for your direct opposite, in every regard?"

"I fell for my college study partner," I corrected him. "The rest is history."

"And he allows you to stay out all night visiting patients."

"He's in Asia on a voluntary medical mission."

"Don't tell me; the all American boy with the bleeding heart?"

"Shut up Dean," I shoved his shoulder gently.

"I'm three times your size," he warned snickering. "Think about that before you pick a fight."

"As a doctor I know the best places to strike. You think about that before you challenge me."

Now he was laughing and for the first time since he entered the hospital, he actually appeared to relax. "I love a woman with fire," he said invitingly.

In spite of myself I had to laugh too. "The only reason I won't knock you out here and now is that your little brother would never forgive me."

At the mention of Sam, Dean's smile faded and he sighed deeply. The fatigue was beginning to tell on him.

I put a hand on his shoulder and made direct eye contact.

"Sam is going to be fine," I reassured sincerely.

"Well, if the good Witch Doctor tells me that I guess I should believe it," Dean conceded.

"I'll let that one slide," I conceded in turn. "And if you don't mind, I'd like to stay for the rest of the night. I'll keep out of your way but I want to be close by so I can keep an eye on him."

"But you said this fever shouldn't be anything too serious."

"I don't think it is but I'd like to stick around anyway. Sam's not just my patient; he's special to me."

"He obviously feels the same way because he asked for you. Sam never wants anyone around when he's sick. Only family. He must really trust you. So you're in."

"Thanks."

When we were allowed to go back in to see Sam he was exhausted but coherent. The nurse was giving him more medication and then she left a large cup of clear fluid at his bedside.

"See to it that he drinks all of it before he goes to sleep," she said to us.

Dean took up the cup and held the straw for Sam to sip. "Hey," he said softly. "Don't scare me like that again."

"Sorry," Sam sounded tired and desperate. "Please don't leave."

"I won't Sammy." Dean promised solemnly.

"I'm cold," Sam complained once he drained the cup.

"I'll go ask the nurses for an extra blanket," I volunteered.

"By the way," Dean whispered just as I was leaving the room. "Your Doctor's hot."

I was grinning and shaking my head as I walked away but a few minutes later when I came back the conversation had taken a different turn.

"Don't lecture me in your half drugged state," Dean was hissing. "What do you think I'm gonna do, jump her in the hospital storage closet?"

"No," Sam sounded confused and weary.

"Look I'm only here to make sure you're not dropping dead; not ruin your boy next door image or mess up your perfect California life."

"That's not what I was saying," Sam pleaded.

"Well I know that's what you meant."

"I got the blanket," I announced loudly, sensing they needed an intervention.

When I approached the bed I was flummoxed by the wounded look on Sam's face. The abject hurt was so pronounced that it seemed to cut right through Dean who backed away from the bed and ran his hands through his hair.

"Don't be mad at me, Dean," Sam sounded so dejected that I almost crawled into the bed to hold him.

I had never seen anyone apologise with their eyes the way Sam did. It didn't seem to matter whose fault the argument was, he just didn't want his big brother to be upset.

"I'm not," Dean said helplessly, obviously unable to maintain his anger when his brother appeared so completely vulnerable.

I held up the blanket as if it were a white flag. "Dean could you help me with this?"

He dutiful stepped into place and we spread the cover over his brother.

"Those pills are gonna put you out like a light in no time," I said tucking the blanket underneath Sam.

He yawned heavily. "I think they're giving me narcotics."

"It's easier when you don't fight it." I smoothed his hair back and kissed his forehead. "Get some rest."

"Dean," he mumbled as the sleep pulled him under.

Dean stepped up to the side of the bed. "We're all good," he assured.

"Good," was the last thing Sam muttered before he drifted off again.

Once we were sure Sam was in a deep sleep, I left Dean alone and went to the twenty-four hour diner across from the hospital to get us some dinner. Soon after we had eaten I dozed off at the table and awoke in the morning to see Dean sitting across from me fast asleep. I allowed him to get some rest but woke him up quickly when I noticed Sam starting to stir. Then I immediately buzzed for a nurse.

The matron on duty came and briskly ran through all the necessary checks before pronouncing that she was reasonably pleased with Sam's progress.

"You'll have something to eat now," she said.

"No," Sam shook his head tiredly. "I don't want anything."

"Mr. Winchester you're going to have to take more medication; you'll need something in your stomach."

"Bring him some soup," Dean ordered. "He doesn't like solids when he's not feeling well."

"I don't want anything," Sam groaned miserably.

"Yeah but you'll have the soup," Dean said firmly.

When the orderly pushed in the tray with the liquid meal Sam made a face.

"Lose the attitude, princess," Dean said adjusting the bed to bring his brother into a sitting position.

"What are you doing?" Sam demanded when Dean pulled a chair up to his bedside and picked up the spoon.

"Oh you think I don't know all your tricks by now? You'll take a few spoons for good measure and then say you're not hungry, this way everything goes down."

"You are so not going to feed me, Dean."

"Would you prefer to have a gorgeous woman do it?" Dean held out the spoon to me. "Doc, you wanna take over?"

"I think I'll leave you to it," I couldn't help giggling a little. "That way it will be a little less humiliating."

"Open up, Sammy," Dean said taking the cloth napkin up from the tray and placing it across his brother's lap.

Sam stared at him, red faced with him mouth set in a firm line.

"Would you like me to do the plane? That always did the trick when you were little."

"Dean," I cautioned. "I think there's steam coming out of his ears."

Sam shot me a hateful look that had me covering a smile and retreating to the table to sit away from him and his brother. He turned angrily back to Dean.

"I'll get you both for this," he hissed just before Dean slipped a spoonful of soup in his mouth.

Dean shrugged, undaunted by the threat. "You know what this reminds me of?"

"What?"

"When you had to get your tonsils out."

"Let's not bring that up now. I was so scared about being in the hospital."

"Scared? You totally wimped out. You damaged the Winchester name irrecoverably."

"If I was that much of an embarrassment, why did you fight like hell with Dad and all the nurses until they allowed you to stay overnight with me?"

"Hey big brothers are obligated to step in when little brothers are wimping out."

"I guess," Sam snickered, then got thoughtful. "I seem to recall you feeding me on that occasion as well."

"Yeah, when you refuse to even eat ice cream it calls for drastic action."

"As usual you knew how to get me to do whatever you wanted."

"All for a good cause Sammy. You were better in no time."

"True."

"And you should know by now that the hospital scene doesn't scare me, so quit acting like you expect me high tail it out of here while you're sleeping."

"I guess sneaking out in the dead of the night is more my style."

Dean paused from his spooning. "Well," he shrugged. "You apologised profusely for that in your Estrogen inspired letter."

"Yours was just as sappy," Sam shot back.

"Anyway," Dean seemed to be in a hurry to skip over the issue of the letters. "The fact is that nothing's changed. You're still a pain in the butt but if it's an SOS you know I'll be here."

"But what if I'm not sick or dying? What if I just want to see you will you come and see me then?"

"Your soup's getting cold."

"Dean?"

"Let's finish this so you can take your meds and then get some more rest. Dr. Shayne, I think Sam's ready for his pills."

That was my cue to come out of the shadows they had relegated me to when they began to communicate as if they were the only two people in existence.

"Are you done eating, Sam?" I asked getting up and stepping over to his bed.

"Yeah," he said looking up at me suddenly.

I picked up the small disposable container with the pills and the paper cup of water the nurse had left.

Dean seemed relieved to have the interference and moved the tray aside and then stepped away from the bed. While I fed Sam the pills and then settled him back down Dean busied himself pushing the food trolley into the corner.

Sam just stared at his brother with hurt in his eyes.

I realised that the undercurrents between these two were deeper and more turbulent than anyone would suspect. Whatever it was that had caused the falling out before Sam came to college was obviously still hanging between them, creating tension and insecurity.

Writing to each other had been the start; but they clearly had a lot more to talk about. The letters may have been exchanged and heartfelt emotions may have been expressed, but deep underlying issues were yet to be resolved.

I decided to step out of their space to give them a chance to talk frankly and start to work things out. I left them alone for the entire day, but when I return very late that afternoon I found the tension between them had gotten worse.

As soon as I entered Sam's room it was clear that I had walked in on an argument.

Never one for pretentions, I addressed them frankly. "If you two need a referee I'd be happy to serve as long as I know the rules of engagement."

"No need Doc," Dean said breezily. "In fact, we should be celebrating. Sam's getting out tomorrow."

Sam, however, did not look overly joyful at the prospect.

"That's wonderful." I said.

"Yeah," he didn't even try to fake enthusiasm. "They say all I need after this is a week of bed rest."

"Great." Again I was the only one who seemed enthused.

"So Doc, do me a favour?" Sam asked. "Get him out of here," he pointed to his brother. "He needs some real food and a good night's sleep."

"That's not a problem. He can come home with me."

"No, that's OK," Dean interjected quickly. "I'll just find a motel near here and crash."

"Don't be ridiculous," I said firmly. "I have more than enough room. You're coming to my house, doctor's orders."

I expected resistance; at the very least I figured he would refuse to leave his little brother. But the lack of sleep and the obvious tension between them seemed to have taken their toll.

"You're gonna be O.K. by yourself?" Dean asked Sam.

"I'll be fine," Sam assured him. "Once they give me my meds I'm dead anyway so you may as well get some rest."

"I agree," I chimed in.

"Does your husband know you're bringing strange men home while he's away?" Dean sent a flirtatious smile my way.

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him," I grinned back.

We said goodbye to Sam and walked out of the hospital together. I was going to tell Dean to drive behind me since he didn't know the way to my house; but I stopped in my tracks when I saw his car.

"Oh wow," I exclaimed as he approached the sleek, black, drop dead gorgeous Impala. "Is this yours?"

"Yeah," Dean got a proprietary look in his eye.

"She's gorgeous," I gushed running an index finger along the side of the roof and then down the bonnet. "What year?"

"Sixty-seven."

"Oh my. So she's got some miles on her but you couldn't tell. You obviously treat her like a queen. Can I see under the hood?"

"You're kidding right?"

"Do I look like I'm kidding?"

He opened the driver's door, leaned over to pop the bonnet and then walked around me to lift it up. I surveyed the pristine frontend and then bent down to get a close look.

"Nice," I cooed, examining the engine. "You work on her yourself?"

"No one else can touch her."

"You obviously know what you're doing."

"And how would you know?"

"My father is a mechanic. We could never afford new cars in my family so we got old ones and fixed them up. We all had to learn the basics for ourselves. Daddy has always been reverent about it. I always thought of him as a car doctor. Healing and care runs in my family, so I recognise a natural caregiver when I see one and you Mr. Winchester were born to nurture."

"You must have the wrong person," he said, his horror was palpable.

"No." I straightened up to look right at him. "I see the way you are with Sam. The call is barely out of his mouth before you're at his side to help him. For a tough guy you have a pretty soft touch. And don't even try to deny it," I said when he opened his mouth to protest. "You obviously believe in taking extra special care of whatever or whoever you love and that's noble."

He looked away, embarrassed that anyone could see what he tried so hard to conceal.

"Don't worry Dean. You hide it well and I won't give your secret away."

I dipped back under the hood. "What's her name by the way?" I asked without looking up.

"Excuse me?"

"Come on. A car like this must have a name, not to mention a personality; and face it, a guy like you isn't going to have a car that's a boy."

"I never really named her. She's just always been my baby."

So this was his other child, I thought, recalling his nurturing and care of his sick little brother. And judging from the immaculate condition the car was in _this_baby had been the recipient of all the loving care he hadn't been able to lavish on his younger sibling during their brief period of estrangement.

I whistled appreciatively when I completed my assessment. "She's in great shape," I concluded straightening up to look at him again. "Even a stickler like my Daddy would be impressed."

"Why thank you Dr. Shayne," he raised his eyebrows suggestively. "I'm good with my hands."

"Dean," I chastised seriously. "Don't flirt with me in front of her; you'll hurt her feelings."

"Oh," he stroked the bonnet penitently. "I'm sorry baby."

"That's better," I commended.

He looked at me and I could detect the faintest twinge of fondness in his expression.

"You're OK Dr. Shayne," he conceded as he brought the hood down gently.

"Thanks."

We left my car at the hospital and I drove home with Dean so I could ride in the Impala.

"You weren't kidding," he said when he saw my split level, ranch style house. "You have more than enough room."

I settled him down in the self-contained guest suite and told him dinner would be ready in forty five minutes. I decided on fettuccine alfredo and savoured the sense of calm relaxation I always experienced when I was cooking. Dean came down to the kitchen just as I was pouring myself a glass of red wine. I thought briefly about offering him one then laughed at myself and quickly told him that the beer was in the fridge.

We had dinner at my kitchen table and the meal was pleasant and thoroughly relaxing until I brought up the issue of Sam's recovery.

"I have a suggestion," I said when Dean had finished his third plate of pasta and as far as I was concerned he was welcomed to a fourth.

"Would your husband approve?" Again I got the wicked smile and had to laugh at the reflexive nature of his flirtations.

"As a Doctor I'm sure he would. I think you and Sam should stay here for the next week while he's on bed rest."

"Thanks," Dean said tensing instantly. "But no thanks."

"Why not? Where else are you two going to stay?"

"I'll figure something out."

"Like what? I know you're not going to leave him until you think he's well and his dorm can't hold you, him, and his roommate."

"So I'll think of something else."

"But wouldn't you rather he continue his recovery under the same roof as his doctor?"

"Look I don't need anyone's help to take care of my brother. I've done it all my life and I can manage just fine."

"And while you've been taking care of Sam, who's been taking care of you, Dean?"

"I got that too, don't worry," he said sternly.

And construction work resumed on the wall of defence he had started to build the first time I met him. It was impossible to think that was only yesterday. Somehow it seemed I had known him longer than that.

"Dean, I can spot the walking wounded a mile away and Sam may be the one who's hospitalised on this occasion but in my expert opinion, you're both pretty badly hurt and you both need time to recover. Now I'm offering the two of you some time and some space to heel, together because I my gut tells me that neither of you will heel entirely if you try to do it apart."

He met my eyes head on and then shook his head disbelievingly.

"Does your husband ever win an argument with you?"

"All the time," I admitted weakly. "He has this look that always neutralizes me. And I'm so pathetic that it works every time."

Now Dean was laughing, deeply and genuinely. It was such a wonderful sound.

"You're in love Dr. Shayne." he said teasingly.

"Yeah," I sighed. "You'd think I'd be over it after twelve years."

"So how come you guys don't have a bunch of little ones running all over this place?"

The question was like a swift kick to my stomach. I swallowed and blinked hard as my eyes filled up.

Up to last week the answer to that would have been, "we're trying." But how did I answer these queries now that I had officially given up?

"I can't have children," I said.

It was the first time I had admitted that to anyone. I'd told Sam that I decided to stop taking fertility treatment and the implications of that decision. But I had never said outright to anyone that I was incapable of having what I desired most.

"Oh crap," Dean said looking like he had committed a cardinal sin by asking. "I'm so sorry, Doc."

"It's O.K," I tried to sound unaffected but my eyes were filling up fast.

"Man, I need to learn to shut my mouth. You'd never catch Sammy asking something so insensitive. Or he'd have a way of asking that wouldn't have made you upset."

"That's funny," I smiled through the tears that seemed hell bent on coming. "He said he wish he had your quick wit and your knack for a good delivery."

"Which simply means although he's here getting a high priced education and he still has no sense."

That made me snicker a little.

"I'm really sorry," Dean got up to tear a paper napkin off the roll sitting on the kitchen counter and handed it to me.

"It's fine, Dean." I took the tissue and started dabbing. "I can't have children and I'd better get used to saying it."

But restating the distressing fact brought a fresh wave of grief and before I could stop myself I was sobbing openly.

"I'm sorry," I said standing and pushing back my chair. "Please excuse me."

I turned to leave but Dean gently restrained me and simply pulled me into a comforting hug.

"I'm really sorry," he said, guiding my head down to his chest and then stroking my hair.

For the second time in two days I was crying like a baby on one of the Winchester boys. In so many ways Dean seemed to be the complete opposite of his brother. But they had one vital thing in common a deeply caring and completely tender heart. And Dean may have created brash exterior to fool the unsuspecting but I now knew the considerate, compassionate man that was hidden beneath it.

"So I guess this is what gets me riled up," I confessed pulling away slowly.

Dean smiled sympathetically. "It sucks ten ways to hell that a woman like you can't be a mother. I look around this place and it seems like you and your husband have everything."

"You never have everything," I said soberly. "But you have to fight to hold on to what you have that's important to you. Like your relationship with your brother. And on that note," I went on when there was no protest or objection. "Are you going to take me up on my invitation?"

Dean was completely serious when he looked at me. "I'll have to ask Sam."

"He'll agree if you agree." I had picked up that much.

He was quiet for several moments, considering.

"You're not the only one who can spot the walking wounded," he said contemplatively. "I get the sense that Sam and I aren't the only ones who need time to heal."

"No you aren't," I said openly. "I don't believe in coincidence. If we're all here at this point together then we're all meant to help each other."

"You win Dr. Shayne," Dean held up his hands in surrender. "Recovery week starts tomorrow. Let's see if any of us will survive."

**TO BE CONTINUED **

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**Don't change the channel. There's more coming up...**


	13. Words Get In The Way

**I Wish I Was Your Brother **

**A/N: **The Letters story arc just won't quit. This chapter picks up immediately after "Face to Face". If you haven't already done so I highly recommend reading chapters 10, 11 and 12 to put all the events and issues of this chapter into perspective.

**A/N: **Special thanks to my awesome beta Ericka Jane, who never lets me down.

**A/N: **This is for all of you who continue to read and enjoy this series. Your feedback is amazing and more encouraging than you can imagine.

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**- Thirteen -**

**Words Get In The Way **

Recovery week would have kept a team of psychologists busy for a month. Although I hadn't expected everything to go smoothly, no one could have anticipated the explosive clash and epic meltdown that occurred before the seven days were over.

But before we descended into almost unbelievable angst and melodrama, Sam, Dean, and I were as carefree as three teenagers in a college dorm. My home took on an entirely new character with the Winchester boys around. There was noise, banter, occasional confusion wrapped up in the warmth and comfort that comes when you have people you care about in close proximity.

Getting to know Sam and Dean individually had been one thing but dealing with the two of them together was an entirely different experience. I often found myself retreating to the sidelines to just observe their interactions trying – often in vain – to figure out the numerous dimensions of their multi-faceted relationship.

To say the boys were close was to truly define the term understatement. To me the Winchesters seemed like a single soul existing in two bodies with the force of that singularity constantly pulling them into the same sphere. Neither of them seemed capable of being totally at peace unless the other one was in close proximity.

They were each other's greatest source of emotional security. That became clear the second night Sam was home from the hospital and we all hung out in my living room chatting. Just before midnight I went to bed knowing if I didn't get some rest I'd be a wreck at work the next day. I left Sam and Dean in my living room and was surprised that they were still there at about 4AM when I woke up to get a glass of water.

I heard the voices as I strolled to the kitchen and stopped to listen at the door. Apparently, the late hour wasn't lost on Dean and he was trying to coax Sam into turning in for what was left of the night.

"Dude, it's way past your bedtime now."

"I'm good," Sam said easily.

"Sam, you're supposed to be getting rest."

"Yeah, so I'll sleep late tomorrow."

"I think the idea is for you to rest around the clock, not stay up all night and sleep all day."

"Dean, how long has it been since you and I just sat and talked like this?"

There was a marked silence.

"Too long," Dean admitted in quiet voice.

"I've missed it," Sam said not even attempting to disguise the emotion in his voice. "I've missed you."

There was more silence and even from where I stood eavesdropping the air was pregnant with feeling. I waited, wondering if maybe Dean would tease Sam about being so expressive. I wondered if he would make a snide remark like men generally did when the conversation got too heavy. But I had forgotten which siblings I was dealing with.

"Me too, Sammy," Dean said softly.

I swallowed hard as my stomach fluttered at all that was expressed in those simple words.

That incident prepared me for another element of Sam and Dean's relationship; the fact that they were able to convey volumes to one another with very few words. Even more profound was their ability to disarm each other with certain key phrases.

Dean's defences always seemed impenetrable and his resolve was like granite. That is, until Sam's eyes got soft and emotional, and he said, _"__Please__" _or worse _"__Dean."_As strong-willed as he was, Sam complied with all of Dean's instructions once Dean's answer to Sam's "why?" included the magic words, "Because I'm your big brother."

To see the power each of these extremely stubborn young men had to make the other cave in was to have clear visibility of both Sam and Dean's greatest source of vulnerability. I suspect the fact that they understood that they were each other's greatest weakness was what made them so fiercely protective of one another. Dean's reputation as his little brother's bodyguard proceeded him but I soon discovered that Sam was equally overprotective. Any notion I had that this aspect of this boys' relationship was one-sided was quickly dispelled the night Dean injured himself in my kitchen.

He was fiddling around with a high-tech electric knife and accidentally slashed his wrist. The instant gushing of blood would have set off massive panic for most people but Sam immediately sprang into action.

He rushed to his brother side and held out his hand. "Let me see it," he demanded.

Dean shook his head and started turning away.

"It's no big deal," he said trying to deflect his brother's attention but he gave himself away when began to inspect the wound and gasped softly.

"Let me see it," Sam insisted in a tone I had never heard him use with Dean. Prior to this I had only seen in him in little brother mode, vulnerable, needy and compliant. Now, he was taking charge.

Reluctantly, Dean held out his hand. Sam examined the bleeding wrist and hissed.

"Doc, do you have a first aid kit?"

It was less a question and more an order. "Yes, I do," I got up and quickly rummaged through one of the counter drawers.

"I need antiseptic, please."

I paused to assess the situation, completely puzzled. "Hurry, please." Sam's tone was stern.

Quickly, I opened the kit, pulled out the bottle of antiseptic, liberally doused two cotton balls and then handed them over to Sam.

"You know the drill," he warned Dean gently. "This is gonna sting."

Swiftly and efficiently he cleaned the cut, apologizing softly when Dean winced.

"Do you have any anti-bacterial anointment?" he asked once the wound was clean.

I pulled out a tube and screwed off the cap.

"Thanks," he took it from and steadily applied the dressing.

Sam was in the same mode that I had seen Dean switch into when Sam had started running a fever while he was in the hospital. It seemed to be how the Winchesters boys reacted if either of them felt that other was in jeopardy. They transitioned to a zone where nothing and no one existed but his brother, and all that mattered was whatever he needed to be O.K. Neither of them seemed even vaguely aware of the distinct shift that occurred when one or the other even so much as stubbed his toe. But to an outsider, looking on, it was obvious when one of them went into protective mode to safeguard the person they valued more than their own existence.

"I need some gauze and a bandage," Sam ordered.

That was when the full implications of what was occurring struck me.

"Is the irony of all this lost on the two of you?" I had to ask.

"Huh?" It was said in unison and I found myself looking at two confused faces.

"Under these kinds of circumstances people usually defer to the doctor," I explained.

Sam held Dean's wrist possessively like he expected me to try to take his big brother away from him.

"But, Dr. Shayne," Sam defended heedlessly. "I had to make sure it was done right."

"And I went to school to learn how to do it right, Sam." I had to make the point explicitly. "But you don't trust anyone when your big brother's hurt."

"That's not true." Sam's face reddened but he still didn't relinquish Dean's wrist.

"Yes it is. You're as overprotective as he is."

"HE is standing right here," Dean made sure to point out.

"How does your hand feel?" I asked him.

"O.K. Although Sam's acting like it was near amputation, I'll survive."

I stepped in between them and briefly took Dean's hand to examine his wrist.

"All appears to be in good order," I conceded. "Good job, Sam. Bandage him up."

"Thanks, Doc," he said a little shyly. He applied the bandage in what looked like well practiced motions, then he squeezed his brother's shoulder. "You O.K?" he asked quietly.

"I'm good," Dean replied softly. "Thanks."

"I didn't mean to bark orders at you," Sam turned to me apologetically.

"That's O.K. honey," I had to go up on tip toes to ruffle his hair. "I know you were just worried about him." Then I turned my attention to Dean. "I'm going to put you on some antibiotics just in case. And I'm giving you a painkiller."

"I don't need any of that stuff," Dean started to protest but I silenced him with a stare.

"You'll take the meds," I ordered quietly.

"Yes ma'am," Dean held up his hands quickly. "Whatever you say."

"Good," I went up on my toes again, this time to give Dean a quick kiss on the cheek. "You'll be better in no time."

"Now this is the part of the medical treatment I like," he said catching me in a bear hug. I squeezed him back affectionately.

"Once you start flirting I know you'll be O.K." I laughed and rubbed his back.

Dean planted a loud kiss on my forehead and then flashed his brother a superior smile. "Jealous?" he asked.

Sam rolled his eyes and dumped his used medical supplies in the garbage. "Not likely." He shot back.

The little exchange was typical of how differently both boys interacted with me. Sam was careful to observe all of the conventional boundaries and Dean deliberately ignored them. Their contrary approaches played out in our infinitely memorable poker marathon.

On my day off Sam had slept until noon and woke to find Dean and I in the den completely engrossed in a game of poker. Greatly concerned, Sam approached the card table demanding answers.

"Dean? Doc? What's going on?"

"Your brother is teaching me to play poker," I said without looking up from my hand.

Sam immediately turned on Dean. "You're showing my doctor how to gamble?"

"Yeah," Dean quickly rearranged his cards. "And she's catching on fast."

"I don't believe you."

"Quiet, I need to concentrate or Pocahontas here is gonna take my lunch."

"Dean!" Sam objected, scandalized.

"All the name calling proves is that he's getting scared," I said calmly.

"You two are joking right?" Sam still couldn't believe it. "What are you guys gonna do tomorrow, hustle pool?"

"Oh, you play pool too?" I asked Dean.

"Better than I play cards," he replied slickly.

"So maybe we can…"

"No you can't." Sam cut me off instantly.

To Sam I was the dignified Dr. Shayne, a Mona Lisa type figure for whom he reserved the most decorous and respectful treatment. It would never dawn on him to suggest that I engage in a potentially degenerate activity like gambling. His brother clearly, had no such hang up. Dean got his kicks from seeing how far he could push me, and from scratching the surface to see if what was beneath bore any relation to the polished exterior. Sam seemed to regard me as a gift to be treasured while Dean treated me like a present to be enjoyed. Both approaches were as flattering as they were gratifying.

"You're a respectable woman, Doc," Sam said, further illustrating my point. "My brother is a bad influence."

"Well," Dean said philosophically. "You ended up at Stanford so it's either I'm not that bad or I don't have that much influence." Then he spread his cards on the table and fixed me with his wicked grin. "Pay up, Doc."

"You're playing for money?" Sam asked incredulously as I dropped a ten dollar bill on the small pile of cash on Dean's side of the table.

"That was her idea," Dean was quick to point out.

"I wanted to play for a chance to drive the Impala but he almost fainted when I mentioned it."

"My baby's virtue is not for sale."

"How much are you down?" Sam asked me knowingly.

"Fifty dollars. But as soon as I get the hang of it, I'm sure I'll win it back."

"Kiss that cash goodbye," Sam advised.

"So," Dean shuffled the cards with extra flair. "Should I deal you in?"

"Sure," Sam took a seat at the table. "Someone has to cut you down to size."

We ended up playing for the entire day and well into the evening. We laughed, screamed, yelled at each other and indulged in generally bad behaviour. We order two extra large pizzas with multiple toppings and devoured the first one for lunch and the second one for dinner. After dinner we switched to horror movies and sprawled across my large sectional sofa with pillows and blankets. Sometime after eleven I got up to go to bed and without thinking twice I embraced and kissed each of the boys and told them good night.

There was no resistance from either of them, no embarrassment at the open display of affection and, perhaps most importantly, not one flirtatious word from Dean. Before I drifted off to sleep that night I thought about how wonderfully the week was going. It had been so long since I'd been able to just let go and enjoy myself, and forget the curse of infertility hanging over my head.

From the looks of things I wasn't the only one enjoying this unexpected reprieve. In all the time I had known Sam I'd never seen him so happy. Since he had come to Stanford he had seemed restless and incomplete, but with his brother around he was happy and self-assured. And Dean, who had been suspicious of everything and everyone when he came to town, was now relaxed and comfortable.

However the issues that had made "recovery week" a necessity for all three of us didn't resolve themselves because we were having such a good time. They simmered just below the surface and in the last few days they erupted.

I saw the initial signs of trouble on Sam's first night home from the hospital. I had gone to his room to help him settle in for the night and as usual we ended up talking about Dean. I found Sam sitting up in bed, reading a magazine, his hair still slightly damp from his shower.

"Ready for bed?" I asked.

"Just about," he smiled a little tiredly.

"This should help you rest." I perched on the side of his bed and placed a folded, snow white satin comforter on his lap. "My grandmother made it for me when I was leaving for college. I've had it ever since."

"Wow," Sam said squeezing a handful of satin and down feathers. "She did this all by herself."

"Yes," I said proudly. "Grandma was gifted with her hands."

"These patterns," he traced the intricate embroidery with his index finger. "They're Native American healing symbols right?"

"Healing and comfort. I always pull it out if I'm under the weather physically or emotionally. I curled up under it for weeks after both my miscarriages."

For several moments I was lost in my memories of the depression and despair that had gripped me in the desperate days after I'd loss my unborn children.

"I've been meaning to talk to you about that," Sam said tentatively. "But being drugged out of my head kinda had me distracted."

"That's fine, Sam," I tried to cut him off quickly. "You had your own health to think about. And speaking of which," I went on when he tried to stop me. "You should be getting some rest now."

"I have a whole week to rest," he dismissed my deflection gently. "We can talk for a few minutes. I want to know how you are and how you're feeling about everything now."

"I'm fine," I said calmly, even as the memories threatened to overwhelm me. "I've accepted my position. There's really not a lot I can do about it at this stage."

"Are you kidding me, there's a whole lot you can do. Have you given any more thought to your options?"

"We have plenty time to discuss all of that; but now it's bed time young man."

"O.K," he conceded closing the magazine and placing it on the night table. "Do you know where Dean is?"

"In the garage giving the cars a once over. The only way he'd accept free room and board was if I allowed him to give me some help around the house so he's checking to see if the cars need any work. Would you like me to get him for you?"

"No," Sam said quickly. "It feels like he's been with me twenty-four-seven since he got here. It's good for him to get a little space."

"You guys don't want separate rooms do you? I figured you'd be O.K. sharing the guest suite but there's plenty space."

"No. I'm fine. I just..."

"What is it, Sam?"

"It's just this feeling I have. It's stupid."

"No. If you feel something it can't be stupid. What's wrong?"

"I feel like Dean's gonna leave me."

"Well he can't stay in California forever."

"I don't expect him to. But I think when he leaves I'm not going to see him again for a long time."

"Why do you think that?"

"Because I know how he is and it's like he's keeping his distance."

"Distance? He's dropped everything to come and see you and he's staying on until you recover."

"Yeah and now that I'm getting better he's pulling away, and I get the feeling as soon as my week of rest is over he's gonna go as far as possible in the opposite direction."

"If you feel that way why don't you talk to him about it?"

"And tell him what? That I don't feel like he wants to be as close to me as he was before I left?"

"If that's what you're feeling, yes."

"No Doc. Dean would probably just beat the crap out of me for being such a wimp. Of course, he'd make sure that I was fully recovered first."

"I'm surprised to hear you say that, Sam. From what I've seen that's the last thing that would happen. I watched you two in the hospital; between the medication and your illness you were completely vulnerable and yet it was so clear that you felt safe with your brother. From the level of trust I saw between you two I don't think there's anything you couldn't tell him."

"I'm not going to tell him that he has to be close to me or to spend time with me. That has to be his choice."

"I agree. But you're assuming you know what he's thinking and in my experience it's always dangerous to make those assumptions. If you feel like there's something there between the two of you then you need to sit him down and have a good talk."

"There isn't anything to talk about. It's just a feeling I have that's all. I'm probably just being emotional because I'm tired. Dean would say I'm being a girl."

"Well you get some rest then," I went back to where I started. "There's plenty time for talking."

"That goes both ways you know," Sam said tiredly.

"I know."

I stood up, arranged the comforter over him and leaned down to kiss him. When he said goodnight and curled into his pillows he looked so young and vulnerable that my heart reeled with longing. When I left the room I leaned against the door to steady myself and fight back the despair that threatened to overwhelm me. I would never have the privilege and pleasure of telling my child goodnight. The sense of loss was so vast and deep I felt like I would drown in it.

I turned away with my head down and walked straight into Dean who was approaching the room.

"You O.K?" he asked.

I took a deep composing breath and told him I was fine.

"You sure?" he didn't seem convinced.

"Positive." I assured.

"Is Sleeping Beauty still awake?"

"Just about," I said stepping away. "Go on in and say goodnight."

I had taken refuge in the kitchen where I distracted myself by packing out the mountain of groceries I had bought to stock the pantry for the boys' visit. Midway through the relaxing chore I was joined by Dean who started to assist without being asked.

"How's Sam?" I enquired.

"Out like a light now."

"Good. When I was talking to him he mentioned that he was curious about what your plans were after this. Did he say anything about it?"

"No."

"Do you mind if I ask?"

"Ask what?"

"What are your plans?"

"To hit the road."

"Are you coming back any time soon? I think Sam gets antsy if you guys are separated for too long."

"Sam will be O.K," Dean said dismissively. "He came to California because he wanted to start a new life. The last thing he wants is me hanging around too much."

"You cannot honestly believe that," I said shocked.

"Of course I do."

"Have you two discussed this at all?"

"Sure we did. We ventilated it thoroughly in an epic yelling match just before he left home."

I had to roll my eyes. "And since then?"

"Frankly I think the less said about it the better. There's only so many times you can listen to your little brother essentially tell you to get the hell out of his life."

"Even if that's what he implied before Dean, now he's ..."

"Now he's feeling all clingy and vulnerable because it's the first time he's been sick since he's been on his own. Trust me, once he's back to full strength he'll want to get on with his life, his new life that is."

"Have you two even spoken about the insomnia and what brought it on?"

"Sleep has always been a major issue for him, that isn't anything new."

I wouldn't be the one to tell him that his brother's severe sleep issues were brought on by their separation. The fact that Sam's whole sense of security and wellbeing had shifted totally out of sync when he wasn't in contact with his brother was something that Sam should tell Dean, not me.

"Doc, I appreciate what you're trying to do, but Sam and I are good. So let's move on to a more interesting topic, I googled you."

"You call that interesting," I waved him off. "I bet you fell asleep before you could click on the second link."

"On the contrary Doc you make for some very interesting reading. I had no idea you were such a big shot. I mean all that lecturing, and groundbreaking research and a major medical practice on the East Coast; you're a pretty big deal."

"I'm just a hard worker, Dean."

"I got that much. But what I don't get is how you go from all of that to a low key job as a University G.P."

I bit my lips hard and composed myself against the tide of emotion rearing up inside of me. Suddenly arranging the soap cans needed my undivided attention.

"Did I say something I shouldn't have? Sam will tell you, social sensitivities are not my strong point."

"Don't worry," I said calmly. "It's a reasonable question. The truth is my work in Boston was very fast-paced and a high stress situation with a hectic schedule wasn't exactly conducive to conceiving."

"So you gave up your career to become a mother."

"I changed the scope and focus of my work," I corrected him. "And my husband and I moved to California because we thought a more relaxed environment would do us both good."

"But it didn't work out, the pregnancy that is."

"No."

I moved from the shelves to the wine rack, keeping my back to Dean. Now it was of the utmost importance to have all the white wines on the left and the reds on the right.

My neurotic organising didn't seem to faze Dean.

"Does it hurt nearly as much as I think it should?" he asked. "Because apart from shedding some very dignified tears last night you seem quite OK with all of this."

"I'm fine, Dean. I'm not the first woman to deal with infertility and I'm not the type to sit around crying. I did everything that was humanly possible and it didn't work out, I just have to live with it."

"Have you considered all your other options?"

"If you're talking about adoption, no. I haven't given it much thought. And it's not just my decision to make. I have my husband to think about as well. I suppose we'll discuss it when he gets back."

I gripped the counter for strength wondering how I'd ever be able to look David in the face and admit that I had given up. How could I take away his dream of having his own children?

"You really don't want to talk about this do you?" Dean guessed.

"There really isn't anything to say," I finally found the fortitude to look up at him. "It's late," I changed lanes as I regained my composure. "We should both get some rest."

"You know it's amazing to watch you do that."

"Do what?"

"Take control and dictate. You got one hell of a spine in that tiny body of yours."

"Good," I smiled. "So I won't get any resistance when I tell you it's time for bed young man."

"None whatsoever."

We didn't touch on the hot button issues of infertility and adoption again until the second to last night of the week. We had finished dinner and as usual we were lingering at the table talking. Sam and Dean had me laughing uncontrollably as they recounted two distinctly different versions of a road trip that they had taken to celebrate Dean's twenty-first birthday. They ended up in a heated argument over whose memories were more accurate. I had to yell at the top of my voice to break them up.

"When you two start to argue like this I'm tempted to just lock you both in a room and let you slug it out," I said in exasperation.

Sam and Dean looked at one another, looked at me and then started laughing hysterically.

"Boys," Dean said when he regained control of himself. "You have the perfect personality for mothering boys."

My laughter subsided immediately.

"Really?" I couldn't keep the scepticism out of my voice.

Sam obviously heard it and shot me a worried glance.

"Yeah," Dean continued easily. "You don't take yourself too seriously, so you won't mind it when they run you ragged and you'll give them their space because you understand that boys have gotta raise a little hell. But at the same time you don't put up with crap, so you'll be able to keep them in line. You somehow manage to be incredibly affectionate and not make a man feel like a momma's boy, so they'll be balanced or 'evolved' or whatever the hell it is they expect men to be these days. You have all the right qualities to bring up boys."

He meant it as a compliment; but having spent the whole week so close to them that I was constantly grappling with my own deep sense of need, I snapped.

"Don't do this Dean," I said trying – and failing miserably – to keep the anger out of my voice. "Don't remind me that I failed at the one thing that matters most."

"Fail? Why is it that you high achievers have to take everything so personally? This isn't the SATs Doc. You can't have children, that's just biology it's not a reflection on you."

He didn't understand, I realised as I felt the pressure rising in my chest. No one understood.

"Look maybe I don't have the necessary sensitivities," Dean pressed on. "That's what we have Sam for, but the way I see it, this isn't the end of the road. You want to be a mother and lots of kids don't have mothers; that's a win/win."

"Oh, so I should just pick myself up and go and get a child like I'm going to the mall for a new pair of shoes?"

"You make it sound a little callous when you say it like that but ...yeah."

I pushed my chair back from the table and stood.

"You know what my problem is with that, Dean? I'm supposed to adopt a child another woman gave up. A woman who has no intention of mothering her child can have one and I can't."

"It happens," Dean said reasonably.

"AND IT'S NOT FAIR," I yelled in a voice so shrill I didn't recognise it. "Who the hell decides who gets to have children and who doesn't? You have women who have multiple abortions, who abuse their kids, who abandon them, and all I want is to be a really good mother and I can't get pregnant. I've been to all my friends' baby showers, I'm auntie, godmother and every goddamn thing in between to everyone's children and I can't have my own? I'm fed up of all the envy and the all the dejection I feel when I see women with their babies. I'm sick of watching my husband playing with other people's kids. I'm sick of feeling like he'd have everything he ever wanted if he hadn't married me. I'm sick of people's pitying glances when I tell them I'm over 40 and not a mother. This whole thing is so damn unfair and I'm mad as hell; and going _baby shopping_ IS NOT THE SOLUTION!"

Sam stared at me with a wide eyed expression that would have conveyed less shock if I had grown an extra head. Dean just gave a knowing look like it was the best thing for all concerned that I was behaving like someone suffering from severe hysteria who had neglected to take the necessary medication. Either way I knew I couldn't stand to face either of them any longer. In spite of my best efforts, the whole ugly truth had spewed out leaving me splattered with shame.

"I'm sorry," I said quickly. "Please excuse me."

I hurried out of the dining room, went outside by the pool and sat on a lounge chair. Alone in the cool night air, I surrendered to the hysterical weeping that I'd managed to hold back for weeks. I made no attempt to stop when I heard footsteps approaching or when I felt the lounge chair sink with additional weight. When two arms pulled me into a comforting embrace I let myself go totally and bawled like a child who was abandoned and alone.

Dean let me cry until my throat was parched and my energy was spent. Then he pulled back gently and used one finger to raise my chin so our eyes met.

"What is it about adoption that scares you so much?" he asked gently.

"I'm afraid it won't be the same as having my own child. I'm afraid that every time I look at my adopted son or daughter I'll keep remembering that I failed. I don't want to end up making some innocent kid feel like they're a consolation prize."

"Is that all?"

"No. I'm afraid I won't love them enough because I wasn't the one who gave birth to them."

"None of that's gonna happen," he said confidently.

"How would you know?"

"Because I've seen the way you are with Sam. I've seen the way you look at him, the way you care for him. And it doesn't matter if jackal or a one-eyed mule gave birth to him; he's your boy."

"Is it that obvious?"

"Yeah, it is, so just let it go Doc. Just release all that anxiety and all that anger and you'll realise that you're more than ready."

I sighed loudly.

"You know before I met you, when Sam used to go on and on about his big brother, I really thought he was biased. But I've realised that every word he said is true, you are amazing."

He kissed me quietly on my forehead and then got to his feet as Sam approached us.

"I'll go tidy up the kitchen," Dean volunteered, leaving his spot on the lounge chair empty for Sam.

"You O.K?" Sam asked taking up position.

"Yeah," I said softly.

"There's nothing subtle about my big brother is there?"

"Not a thing."

"But he means well."

"Yeah he does."

"You've been great for him by the way."

"Me?" I was genuinely surprised.

"Yeah, usually his relationship with women is pretty one dimensional."

"I kinda picked that up. Somehow I suspect he's left a trail of broken hearts from coast to coast."

"You know what I think. I think losing Mom broke his heart and he's determined that no other woman is going to do that to him again. But he's different around you. He actually lets you hold him. Dean never lets a woman hold him unless he's trying to ... well, you can figure the rest out."

"Yeah," I sighed. "When you strip everything away a boy just wants his mommy."

"True," Sam admitted. "And being here with you this week it's made me wish..." he paused, unsure if he should continue. "I mean, it's made me wonder ... a lot."

I pulled him into a hug and let him put his head on my shoulder.

"Me too sweetheart," I said stroking his hair. "Me too."

We stayed like that for a while until he released me and for the second time that night I was looking into the eyes of a Winchester boy.

"I need to tell you something," Sam said quietly. "You need stop beating yourself up. It's downright hurtful that a woman like you can't have children but it's not because you waited too long to try or because you decided you wanted a career. It's not your fault. The same way it's not my fault my mom died when I was a baby or Dean's fault that he missed his own childhood because he was taking care of me. Life's just screwed up like that and none of us will ever really understand why. And you're right, it isn't fair but you just have to do the best you can with what you've got."

That night, I lay awake for what seemed like hours thinking about what both Sam and Dean had said. I wondered how fair was it that they had lost their mother at such an early age. How fair was it that the woman who had given birth to them, had never actually got to see the incredible men her two little boys had become.

She would have adored Sam; her baby with the soft eyes and even softer heart who would never outgrow his need for her. She would have been in love with Dean, her little boy with the nurturing soul who would have grown up to become her rock.

Instead, I was the one who was getting to know them in a way she never would. I got to do silly things like play cards with Dean or serious things like discuss a term paper with Sam.

How fair was that?

Before sleep finally claimed me in the early hours of the morning I decided to stop complaining. I decided to stop focusing on what I didn't have and to just be grateful for the unexpected gift that life had given me.

And so on my final night with the boys I spread out a lavish feast for dinner. At Dean's request I made Fettuccine Alfredo this time with shrimp, garlic bread, Caesar salad and cherry pie for dessert. I opened a bottle of sparkling wine insisting that it was a celebration. But half way through dinner it was clear that the boys were in a sombre mood.

When the conversation lapsed into a prolonged silence, I decided to force the issue I suspected was at the root of the problem.

"So Sam," I ventured. "Are you ready to go back to class?"

"Yeah," he said with absolutely no enthusiasm.

"So Dean," I pressed further. "When are you coming this side again?"

"Not sure," Dean shrugged. "We'll see which way the wind blows."

"I thought you said you'd come back for Thanksgiving," Sam said sharply.

"I said I'd think about it," Dean corrected.

Before another tense silence could start dragging out I jumped in with a suggestion.

"Why don't you boys have a standing date? Maybe it could be the last weekend of every month. Dean since it's harder for Sam to move around you could come and the two of you are welcomed to stay here any time you want."

"Thanks Doc," Sam brightened instantly. "Dean, what do you say?"

"That might not be convenient."

"Cut the crap," Sam snapped. "You set your own schedule, you know I don't have the flexibility to come to you."

Dean shrugged nonchalantly. "Well you should have thought about that when you decided to haul up stakes and move all the way out here."

Sam flinched as if his brother had hit him. "You're never going to forgive me for that are you?"

"You know what your problem is, little brother?" Dean lectured in a measured tone. "You always want to have your cake and eat it. But part of being an adult is realising that there are consequences for every decision and when you're faced with those consequences you can't cry about it."

And that blew Sam's cool composure straight to hell.

"This is not a consequence," he yelled, slamming his fist down on the table. "This is punishment."

Sam's outburst flicked the switch on his brother's temper and Dean slammed the table right back.

"You made your choice Sam! You walked out on your family. You said you wanted a new life and now you have it. What the hell do you expect from me?"

"I expect you to be my brother!" Sam got to his feet and barely kept himself from flying at Dean. But Dean stood and squared off with him anyway.

I watched them, holding my breath, frightened that the shouting match would degenerate into a brawl and I would be faced with the less than pleasant task of tearing them apart.

"If you think being your brother means to come running when you call and then back off when you decide you don't need your family anymore, then you're on your own, Sam."

"You said you'd never do this to me Dean," Sam looked angry enough to kill him. "YOU PROMISED!"

"You promised too!" Dean shot back. "But your word didn't mean a damn thing when you decided to go after what you wanted. Well now you've got it Sam, so live with it!"

Dean turned and slammed out of room. Seconds later, Sam stormed out in the opposite direction; and I was left staring at the cold remnants of the last supper.

**TO BE CONTINUED**

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**Thanks for reading. Stay tuned for more...**


	14. Nothing Left Unsaid

**I Wish I Was Your Brother **

**A/N: **This chapter continues the "Letters" story arc. In order to understand the full context it's best to read chapters 10 - 13 before this one.

**A/N: **Once again, I have to tell you guys that I've been blown away by the response to this series and particularly to the "Letters" story arc. I know I've taken a bit long between updates and I appreciate your patience. Enjoy.

**A/N: **If I don't post again before the premiere, here's wishing for an awesome Season 7.

**A/N: **I am running out of superlatives to describe my beta **Ericka Jane**. So I'll just say she's the best of the best and leave it at that.

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**- Fourteen -**

**Nothing Left Unsaid **

Future generations will be told that World War Three actually started in my dining room, and the spark that lit the fire was a cataclysmic argument between Sam and Dean Winchester.

The severity of the clash should not have been a complete surprise to me given the Winchesters' tendency to do everything with crushing intensity. However, when the yelling and the table slamming started I became desperately afraid that the shouting match would escalate. I wasn't completely sure that it wouldn't get physical until Dean stormed out and seconds later Sam followed suit but headed in the opposite direction.

In the aftermath of the fireworks I found myself feeling more annoyed than anything else. I hadn't invited the boys here because I wanted a ringside seat at a yelling match. The whole point of this week together was for them to settle all the unresolved conflict that was festering below the surface of every interaction, just looking for a chance to rear its ugly head. They were going to clear up these issues once and for all, even if I had to tie them up together and force them to talk it out.

I caught up with Dean first and found him preparing to make an unceremonious exit well ahead of his previously stated departure time. He had come up to the room he was sharing with Sam and started gathering his things and tossing them onto his bed. When he dragged his duffle out from the closet and began shoving his clothes into it, I intervened.

"You may as well put that back," I said using my most authoritative tone. "You're not going anywhere until you settle things with your brother."

He stepped past me, went to the bathroom and came back with his kit of toiletries.

"As hard as it is for me to say no to you Doc, this time I've gotta turn you down. I'm getting out of Sam's way."

"_Out of his way?_ He's done nothing but pine for you the whole time the two of you have been separated."

"So you keep saying," Dean shoved the kit into the battered, army green bag. "But I'm not buying it. Sam has exactly what he's always wanted, a chance at a new life."

"That's not all he wants," I pressured him.

"How would you know?"

"Because I've gotten to know him."

"Well I've known him all his life. I'm the one who tried to make up for the fact that we didn't have a mom. I'm the one who had to play nurse when he was sick or be there for him whenever he had a bad day and trust me, when you're as moody as he is, you have _a lot_ of bad days. I had to look out for him twenty-four seven. I fought the bullies on the playground. I was there for every school concert, every report card, the first kiss, and the first date. I patched him up when he got his butt kicked in a fight and then went and dealt with the bastard who kicked it. I was there from the day he was born and I never would have left him. He was the one who decided that his family wasn't good enough."

"And so like every eighteen year old that's foolish enough to think he knows everything, he ran off and left his family. I'm guessing he knows better now and you've got to give him a second chance."

"He doesn't want a second chance, he wants a new and improved life. He wants to be around people like you, he wants to be in places like this."

I cut him off quickly. "People like me went to Harvard from a Native American Reservation, and I didn't make it to the Ivy League to forget who I was or to leave my past behind. Sam's the same way. He wants an education; he wants to stretch his mind he _does not_ want to lose his identity and worse, his family."

"He wants a fancy degree, a high-paying job, and the matching wife to shuttle their kids between private school and tennis practice. And if he's going to successfully reinvent himself he doesn't need me turning up and complicating things for him."

"Are we talking about the brother who was just ready to kill you with his bare hands for refusing to visit him every month?"

"Yeah, he feels that way now but give him some time. Once he starts putting down stakes here he's not going to want me around reminding him of where he's coming from."

"Dean, are you implying that your brother is ashamed of you? Because I don't think I've seen a more severe case of older sibling adoration than the one that's afflicting Sam."

The look on Dean's face telegraphed pure disbelief.

"Sam got over that a long time ago. Now all I am is a reminder of the life he's trying to leave behind."

"Dean, Sam is straight-laced and by-the-book, you're brazen and risqué; _of course_ he's going to roll his eyes and cover his face when you start acting up, especially because most of the time you do it just to embarrass him. It's the same way you roll your eyes and cover your face when he's being a geek and embarrassing you. But Sam's not ashamed of you."

Clearly, I had aggravated a raw nerve; Dean couldn't even look at me.

"I've heard enough," he said tersely and tried to return to his packing.

"Well too bad," I grabbed his shoulder and turned him back around to face me. "Because there's more."

Ignoring our height difference, I squared off with him. "I had to listen to you yesterday, Dean. And as hard as it was to hear the truth I knew you were only telling me because you care, and now you need a little truth therapy too."

Anger blazed across his striking face as he tried to silence me with a blistering stare. But beneath the rage, I saw the hurt as tears glistened in his dazzling hazel eyes.

His heart was broken, I realised. Tough-as-nails, devil-may-care, Dean Winchester was still devastated by his little brother's rejection and he wasn't going to let himself be hurt that way again. The flippancy about maintaining any kind of contact with Sam after this visit and the casual way that he blew off all of his brother's entreaties was all to disguise the damage that had been wrought on Dean's emotions when Sam left home, and to safeguard Dean's feelings from taking that kind of battering ever again.

I could tell Dean was still reeling from the onslaught and he didn't need me ordering him to play nice with his brother when the wounds were still raw. This time, someone needed to take care of him.

"You don't see it, do you?" I said softly.

"See what?"

"You don't see the way your little brother looks at you. Like you're the only person that matters and your approval is all that he lives for."

"I think you had too much of that sparkling wine, Doc."

"I'm serious, Dean. How is it that two people can care so deeply about each and everyone can see it but them? Do you have any idea what it's like watching the two of you? Seeing that closeness, that togetherness and that deep bond that goes beyond family? Sometimes I feel like I'm seeing one spirit in two bodies; like the two of you somehow managed to get different parts of a single soul."

"It used to be that way," Dean admitted. "When we were growing up and all we had was each other; but then everything changed and my little brother became a stranger and then he was gone."

"I got to see firsthand what being separated from you did to Sam, believe me, it wasn't pretty. I'm probably the only person who's gotten close to him since he's been here, and the whole time he's been restless and totally incomplete. The moment he woke up in that hospital and realised you were there all of that changed. And every time he thought you were going to step even ten feet away from him he's reached out to pull you back. He's not the same without you and now I know how much being away from him is hurting you."

"How would you know? How could even possibly imagine?"

"Because now that I've been around you two I've realised that Sam's isn't just your brother, he's your child. And I grieve everyday over not having my own so I can very well imagine what it must feel like to think you've lost yours."

"Don't," Dean raised his hand in warning. He stood staring at me, his eyes brimming with tears but his face defiant. I could literally see him moving into self-preservation mode; locking his emotions inside the impenetrable fortress he had created to protect himself from pain like this.

"It's O.K," I said opening my arms, willing to risk the rejection to let him know he wasn't alone.

When he moved towards me, accepting the comfort, the feeling was indescribable. He allowed me to embrace him, burying his head in the crook of my neck while I stroked his back.

"It's O.K, sweetie," I soothed. "I got you."

I didn't let him go until he started to pull away gently and once I released him he turned away to wipe his eyes. While he was still compliant I guided him to the bed so we could sit close together.

"Have you ever told Sam how it made you feel when he left? And I'm not talking about telling him off for being an ungrateful brat, have you told him about all the hurt you've been feeling?"

"Why? For him to think his big brother has become a total wimp?"

"No, for him to realise how much his big brother loves him and that as tough as you are it hurts to think he doesn't need you anymore."

"And apart from me looking like a total wuss, what would be the point of that?"

"Well for one thing, it would let your little brother know how much he means to you."

"If he doesn't know that by now, then I'll have to draw a diagram for him."

"If he doesn't know it by now it's probably because you've never told him. You're so busy acting tough and pretending like nothing ever gets to you, you've convinced the one person who can actually hurt you that you're incapable of being hurt. You can't blame Sam if he thinks you're indestructible, but now you have to ask yourself if you'd rather be his hero or his brother."

Sighing deeply, Dean closed his eyes and leaned his head back.

"The few people who've ever been close to our family always make a big deal about how much Sammy needs me. No one's ever really understood how much I've always needed him."

"The only one who needs to understand that is Sam but he won't know unless you tell him."

"I don't even know how I allowed myself to say it to you, much less him."

"You'll find the words."

I leaned forward and kissed him gently on his cheek then I got up and left him to consider everything I had said. I went in search of Sam and found him in my front yard, sitting on the hood of the Impala with his legs pulled up to his chest and his head resting on his knees. I had blown off so much steam confronting Dean, that I was now completely calm and collected as I approached Sam. I suppose this is why older children often felt that they always got the brunt of their parents' wrath while their younger siblings got off easy.

"Your brother lets you sit on his baby?" I asked when I reached the side of the car.

"We've been doing it since we were kids," Sam swung his legs over the side of the bonnet so he could face me. "All of our rites of passage conversations either took place right here or in there," he pointed to the car's interior.

"She's an exceptional beauty."

"Yeah, she's Dean's one true love, that's for sure."

"He adores her, but I'd argue that even she comes in second to a certain little brother."

Sam snickered, in spite of himself. "I think it's safe to say that I've been dethroned. My brother doesn't even want to see me."

"Do you really believe that?"

"You heard him, Doc. You rolled out the red carpet for us and he just brushed it off like he'd rather watch paint dry than spend time with me."

"He's only acting that way because he doesn't understand how important it is for you to be as close to him as you were before. I think if you told him how you really feel he'd visit you every week."

"What am I supposed to do, Dr. Shayne? We don't go around talking about our feelings and confessing our love for one another like girls."

"I'm not saying you need to act out a scene from a Lifetime movie, Sam. I'm just saying that I know for a fact that no one means more to you than your brother, and yet he's insecure about how you feel about him."

"Dean's not insecure about anything."

"No you see, that's where you're wrong. He knows you love him, you're brothers, but he'll never truly understand how much unless you tell him."

"So I'm supposed to spill my guts like some angst-filled, teenage girl for him to slap me back and tell me to quit taking Estrogen?"

"He'd never belittle you Sam, not if you're being honest about how you feel. Your brother lives to give you a hard time, like any self-respecting older sibling, but you should never doubt for a second that you mean the world to him."

"Maybe I did once but he's never going to forgive me for leaving the way I did."

"Forgiveness isn't the issue here; he needs to know that you're not going to hurt him again."

"Hurt him how?"

"By walking out of his life again or worse, shoving him out of yours."

"I won't. I learned my lesson about how you treat your family, even when they drive you to the point of committing murder, you have to find a better way."

I let his words sit in the air for a bit before I approached the conversation from a different angle.

"Can I be honest with you about something?"

"I assume you're honest with me about everything."

"Touché," I chided fondly before continuing. "I've really enjoyed having you both here this week but sometimes it's hard to be around you two and not feel even a little jealous."

"Jealous of what?"

"Of how much you two love each other, even if neither of you will ever come out and say it. But when I see you two together all I can think is how much everyone wants what you both have in each other, everyone wants to be that close to someone and know they have at least one person who will be there for them no matter what."

Sam turned bright red and looked away but I was undaunted.

"What you and Dean have, it's everything; parent and child, brother and brother, best friend and soul mate. Sam people would walk to the ends of the earth for a relationship like that and you've had it since the day you were born. Don't give it up for anything."

Inhaling deeply, Sam covered his eyes with his hands. "I don't know what to do," he said, exasperated. "I'm losing my brother and I don't know what to do."

Without hesitation I reached out for him and held on tight. "Just tell him how you feel Sam," I said softly. "Just be honest with him."

"Doc, nothing means as much to me as Dean and I don't know how to tell him."

"You do, honey," I insisted gently. "It's all in your heart just waiting for a chance to come out."

I hugged him until he was steady and then left him to consider his options. I had done all I could; it was up to the boys to take things from here. I went back into the house thinking I would just crawl into bed, pull the covers over my head and sleep. I made it up the stairs and was entering my bedroom when I heard the guestroom door closing. I looked out to see if Dean was making good on his threat to leave and saw him clear the hallway and head towards the stairs, empty handed.

Then I heard the front door open and shut. I stole to the end of the hallway and glanced around the corner. From my hiding place, I could see Dean going down the staircase while Sam came up. I literally held my breath, wondering if they would pass each other without a word or worse, resume the quarrel.

Somewhere near the midway point, they stood face to face for several moments before Dean sat down and then Sam sat beside him. You could drive a truck through the space that was left between them, but the two of them sitting together was a good first step.

I have never been one to eavesdrop on people's conversations but I was too invested in this relationship to walk away now. As the boys sat in silence for much too long, my heart was pounding so hard I was afraid they would overhear it and realise they had an audience.

It was Dean who put me out of my misery by diving off first.

"Well some things never change," he said sounding like he was making a concerted effort to keep his tone light. "You're still formidable when it comes to a shouting match."

"I've always had to be," Sam was obviously trying to keep his voice casual too. "How else was I going to keep up with you?"

"I thought you would have grown out of that by now."

"What yelling my head off or trying to be like my big brother?"

"Both, I guess."

"Double negative. I haven't changed Dean, I'm still your little brother."

"Sometimes I can almost believe that. And then I think back to what it was like the last few months before you left home and it was like you'd become a stranger."

"I thought I had it all figured out, Dean. I thought if I just got away, I'd be able to shake off everything that I felt was holding me back."

"Like your family."

"Like my family's situation; there's a big difference there."

"I'll defer to you on that, college boy."

"Yeah, well having been smart enough to make it to college doesn't mean you don't make stupid decisions. And running off and leaving my family definitely wasn't the wisest thing I've ever done."

"I'm sorry you felt that you had to."

" I knew if I had to look you in the face and say goodbye I never would have left. And now that I've been here, I realise that the same 'family situation' that I felt was holding me back is actually what's made me who I am so I could even make it here in the first place."

"Oh, so Dad and I finally get credit for something besides screwing up your life."

"I never said that."

"That's not what your actions said."

"If I could take it all back Dean, believe me I would."

"It wasn't just that you left. I mean it was hard not having you around, but that wasn't the hardest part."

"What was?"

"Just knowing that I'd tried my best and it hadn't been enough. With Mom gone and Dad having his issues, I really tried to be there for you and in the end, you felt like you had to run from me to get what you wanted. That was a tough one to swallow."

There was a discomforting pause and then Dean said, "You hurt me bad, Sam. They're not that many things that I'm particularly good at but I always thought I was a good big brother. I cared more about you than I've ever cared about anyone and when you feel that way about someone, and they just turn and walk away it hurts like hell."

"Dean, I never would have done it if I had any idea how much pain it would cause. And if leaving taught me anything it's that so much of what I needed was what I left behind. I mean here I am at college, where I've always wanted to be and none of it has any meaning because the person I really want to be proud of me isn't even here. Dean, when I ran off, I left the best part of me and I didn't realise that until it was too late."

"Sam look, I know you had your reasons for leaving and you don't need to compromise your future because you're worried about hurting my feelings. If you want something different, if you want to build something here for yourself I won't stand in your way."

"You've never been in my way."

"I know you weren't happy. You wanted something more for yourself and I'm not going to stop you from getting it. You're free to live your life the way you want Sam. I won't hang and constantly drudge up the past. If you want a clean break I'm not going to deny you."

"You keep telling me that you know what I want and you haven't even asked me."

"You've made it very clear what you want, Sam. You ran off and left me and Dad, and you didn't even say goodbye. It's obvious to me you want a clean break from the past; you want your space and you want your independence."

"That's not what I want!"

"Then what do you want?"

"I want you to drop everything and move out here. I want to be able to see you every day and talk to you all the time. I want to fight over whose turn it is to get breakfast every morning and I want to have a beer with you to wind down every night. I want the person I trust the most and need the most within my reach all the time."

I swallowed hard as my stomach hollowed with emotion. I guess Dean was grappling with his emotions too because there was no reply coming from that quarter.

In response to his brother's silence Sam sighed. "But maybe that's more than I have any right to ask for or expect," he said softly. "So I'll settle. I'll settle for us talking on the phone all the time even if there's nothing to talk about. I'll settle for seeing you whenever you can swing by and I don't want you to take too long in between visits."

"Sam..."

"Dean I'm not letting you leave until you understand that nothing is the same for me without you. If I don't have my big brother then nothing makes sense. And I want everything to be how it was before when I knew that you'd always be there for me, no matter what."

I could tell from the way Sam's voice was wavering that he was dangerously close to tears. If Dean's response was unfavourable I suspected the emotional damage would be of catastrophic portions.

"So what about you?" Sam said softly. "What do you want?"

My breath caught in my throat as I squeezed my eyes shut literally willing Dean to give his brother a second chance.

"What do I want?" Dean's tone was so gentle that his voice was almost unrecognisable. "I want you to come back on the road with me Sammy. It's just so weird not having you around, you know? I miss you getting on my nerves, I miss you backing me up, but mostly I just miss looking over and seeing you in the passenger seat, and knowing that we're in it together come hell or high water."

"We still are," Sam's voice was brimming with emotion. "We always will be."

"Well, I'll never ask you to walk away from all of this. That's more than _I_ have the right to ask for. You know what you want Sam, you always have and I'll never stop you from going after it, I just don't want you to change. I need you to be the same pain in the butt you've always been. And I need you to let me do what I do best and what I enjoy more than anything else. I need to be your big brother."

The quiet but distinct sound of sobbing told me that Sam had finally lost the battle to control his emotions. My heart went out to him as I heard him inhale sharply, seemingly trying to get himself back in check; but a subsequently shudder was a clear indication that he was failing miserably.

He was exhausted, I realised. Between the separation from his brother, the insomnia, the illness, and hospitalisation and now the reunion which had been in danger of ending in another separation, he'd had as much as he could take. Again, I was reminded that in spite of Sam's size and maturity, he was still a teenager.

I glanced out from my hiding place and saw Dean slipping his arm around his little brother and guiding Sam's head to rest on his shoulder. Sam sank into him and Dean shifted so he could wrap his other arm around him and envelop him fully.

Sam had stored it all up; the grief and regret of the separation, the resentment and anguish at Dean's refusal to make reconciliation easy and worst, the fear that he would lose his brother all together. He had refused to release any of his pent up sorrow and despair until he could unburden himself on the only shoulders strong enough to bear his pain. He had held himself together until his big brother let him know it was OK to fall apart.

I had tried to be there for him but at best I was a poor, though much appreciated, substitute. I'd loved and comforted him as best as I could but it wasn't me who he needed to truly make him feel secure. He needed Dean to be his mother and comfort him through his pain, to be his best friend and listen without being judgemental but most importantly, to be his big brother and give him strength when he had none.

I slipped back into hiding, sat down on the floor in the hallway and pulled my knees to my chest. I covered my mouth with both hands to stifle the sounds of my own sobbing. I think I had cried more since encountering the Winchesters than I had in my entire life prior to this. It redefined overwhelming to see a love so all encompassing that it defied every classification I had tried to assign to it. The undying truth was that every last human being would live and die hoping that somewhere in between they would experience love like that.

"I'm bracing myself for the snide remark about me being a girl," Sam said weakly.

"No," Dean sounded just as tired. "Your big brother's shoulder is always here if you need it."

"I kinda doubted that this past week," Sam admitted.

"Yeah well, I doubted you'd ever need it again."

"I think I always will."

"That's kinda nice to know."

I peeked out to see that they were sitting side by side again but this time their shoulders were touching.

"So are you still leaving tomorrow?" Sam asked drying his eyes with his sleeve.

"Yeah," Dean said lightly. "You start school the day after that, remember?"

"So when am I gonna see you again?"

"I'll be back soon."

"When?"

"Are you gonna keep me on leash?" Dean joked.

"No," Sam snickered. "I just wanna know when I'm gonna see you."

"Soon Sam, I promise."

"Week after next is the last weekend of the month. Are we gonna take Doc up on her offer?"

"Sure," Dean shrugged easily. "She won't be able to stand it after the first weekend."

"No, I think she really likes having us around. We're excellent conduits for her excess maternal capacity."

I slapped a hand over my mouth to stifle a giggle. I was gonna pay Sam back big time for that.

"She's one thing. But when hubby comes back I'm sure he'll have something to say about her bringing home human strays."

"I've never met the guy but he sounds like he's cool. And in case you haven't notice, it's not that easy to say no to Dr. Shayne."

"You're telling me," Dean snickered. "That's one woman who knows how to give orders; and when she's not telling you what to do, she using that cool, smooth voice to charm you into submission."

"You really like her," Sam said knowingly.

"Yeah," Dean admitted without fanfare. "She's genuine."

"She's the first real friend I've made here."

"You never did like people your own age," Dean teased.

"I think that's a well reported side effect of being best friends with your older brother."

They both snickered and then Sam cut through the joviality. "Dean, does being around Dr. Shayne ever make you wonder what it would have been like if we'd had a mother?"

There was a long thoughtful silence before Dean responded.

"Yeah," he admitted, his voice sounding a little shaky with emotion. "And for once it doesn't feel bad or make me upset. It's just kinda nice."

I bit my bottom lip, determined not to cry again.

"I think we should go thank her, for everything."

That sent me flying back up the hallway and into my room to avoid exposure. I ducked into my bathroom to wash away the evidence of all the tears generated by the eavesdropping.

A gimmicky knock at my bedroom was my cue to re-enter the drama; so I caught my breath and opened the door feigning an unassuming air. When I saw Sam and Dean standing side-by-side in my doorway, overlapping one another my heart melted. If Isaac Newton had ever seen these brothers he would have understood that two solid objects could occupy the same space. Beyond their happy smiles, I could see the relief on their faces and contentment warmed my soul.

"Does this mean I can call the UN and tell them not to bother sending over a peacekeeping unit?"

Dean's smile quickly evolved into a wicked grin. "That depends on how many lady officers they were planning to deploy."

"Shut up, Dean," was Sam's advice.

"It looks and sounds as if you guys are back to normal," I ventured. "Am I right?"

"Yeah, we're good," Dean said.

"And we have you to thank for that," Sam rejoined.

"I'm just returning the favour," I shrugged happily. "So have you worked out your visitation schedule?"

"We have actually," Sam said. "And we're hoping your guestroom is still available."

"For you two, anytime." I smiled at them. "As long as all future fights stay verbal, I'm fine."

"And as long as you make that fettuccine again I'm fine too," Dean smiled back at me.

"Well I tell you what, on weekend number two I'll teach you both how to make it and then you can have it any time you want."

"Weekend number two? Why do we have to wait?"

"Because on weekend number one you two are going to take me and my husband out and teach us how to hustle pool."

"Unbelievable." Sam gasped turning on Dean. "You see, this is why I never liked introducing you to any of my friends; anyone who's around you for longer than two minutes get corrupted. Why don't you both just kill me now?"

"Oh don't worry, Sam," I cooed sweetly. "On weekend number three we'll hit the bookstores and we'll drag Dean along."

Dean shuddered, visibly. "Just slit my wrists and call it a day."

"Wimp," I couldn't resist tweaking his nose.

The three of us would have descended into a teasing war but my mobile phone started blaring the love song Dean had programmed as the ringtone for my husband's number. As the opening lines of the sultry ballad rang out, Dean and Sam exchanged conspiratorial smiles.

"We'll give you some privacy," Sam said taking Dean's arm, trying to usher him out of the room.

"We'll be in the kitchen heating up leftovers," Dean called over his shoulder. "Come join us when you're done."

"I will," I said retrieving my handset from the bedside table.

"Tell hubby we said hi," Dean raised his eyebrows suggestively.

"Shut up," Sam ordered and dragged him away.

I had a mile-wide grin when I answered the phone.

"Hey sweetie," I couldn't hide my excitement at hearing from him.

He was in South Korea on a voluntary medical mission and had been posted in a disaster zone to provide emergency medical aid following a particularly bad earthquake. He was assigned to an orphanage that had suddenly had a large intake of physically and emotionally injured children whose parents had been killed in the earthquake. Generally he called me every day but there had been a few days of silence.

"I was beginning to wonder if I'd been dethroned by a South Korean beauty," I cooed flirtatiously.

"Rayen, I'm sorry I've been out of commission for the last few days but you're not gonna believe what's happening over here."

His voice had a familiar edge that almost instantly set off my internal alarms.

"What is it David?" I asked, bracing.

"They're going to separate the boys," he blurted.

In the last several days he had been devoting a lot of his time to two younger brothers who had lost their parents in the disaster. Each time he spoke about them it was evident that his fondness was growing.

"Separate them? How?"

"They're going to be put up for adoption and there's a possibility they might be separated. I don't believe anyone could be so cruel to children."

"David, I don't understand, can they actually separate siblings?"

"The pervading wisdom is that most potential parents can't afford to adopt two children and since Ryan, the little one, is only two he stands a better chance. So if they find someone who's willing to adopt him alone they'll split them up. Raye, since their parents died Ryan hardly speaks to anyone besides his big brother, Adrian. I'm the only one that he'll even respond to if Adrian isn't around. And Adrian risked his life to save his little brother after the earthquake and what's his reward, to lose him for good? They both just lost their parents; they can't lose each other now."

Instantly, I started pacing. David was operating strictly at an emotional level; I had to get us focused on solutions.

"O.K honey calm down," I said reasonably. "Let's discuss this logically."

"Raye there's nothing logical about what they're doing!"

"But nothing's happened yet right? It's just that potentially they could be separated. If they find parents who are willing to adopt both of them then they'll stay together right?"

"That's a big "if" Raye."

"Yes but there's just been a major disaster in this town, so I think it will be a little while before any potential adoptions can take shape."

"Who knows? But I'm not sitting around waiting to see what can happen. I've contacted a lawyer and I'm going to see him tomorrow. I'm going to find out if the kids have any rights. Maybe I can help them to get back to the States. Either way, I need to know what other options are available. This is ridiculous."

"Do you want me to come over there?" I asked.

"I can't ask you to do that, Honey. I know you were afraid that the inoculations you'd need to travel would mess with all your fertility treatment."

"David, if you want me there, I'll come."

He didn't speak for several moments; no doubt he was considering all the implications of my willingness to travel.

"Are you sure?" He whispered, no doubt clearly understanding the deeper meaning of my offer.

"I'm very sure," I said, surprised at the sense of peace I felt as I made the admission. "I didn't know how to tell you David but I decided to stop trying to get pregnant. I'm not quite sure what that means for us…"

"Whatever it means, we'll figure it out together like we do everything else. How fast can you get here?"

My eyes filled and flooded over. While I was busy telling Sam and Dean to trust the love they had for each other and not give in to the crippling fear of rejection, I should have been taking my own advice.

"I love you, David," I gushed, feeling as giddy as I felt the first time I told him.

"I love you too ,Raye," he said. "And I miss you so much."

A loud crash resounded from the kitchen followed by the glorious sound of Sam's laughter. Then Dean's voice rose above the noise issuing threats of revenge.

"I have so much to tell you," I said leaning in the doorway of my bedroom, listening fondly to the delightful chaos. I'd wait until David and I were face to face to tell him how we'd be spending some of our weekends for the next few months.

"I can't wait to hear."

"Give me a day to get things sorted out on the ground over here and then I'll be on a flight."

"Perfect," he sighed. "I feel like I'm losing my mind without you here to keep me grounded. When you get here, you'll have to restore my sanity. Two weeks ago, these boys were total strangers. I don't how I got so caught up so quickly."

_Caught up? _

I knew David better than anyone else and I could hear it in his voice, he was more than caught up, he was falling in love.

And as the noise in my kitchen increased with Sam and Dean brutally teasing one another, I realised, so was I.

**THE END**

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**A/N: **I know nothing about adoption policies or laws in South Korea. The scenario presented was solely to move the story forward. My apologies if I made the authorities in that country seem severe. This is totally fictitious.

**A/N:** **CLARIFICATION – **My original author's notes said that this chapter would close out the "Letters" story arc. That seems to have created the impression that this series would not have additional chapters in this "Verse". Not so at all. This chapter closes out the issues between Sam and Dean that started in "Love Letter", continued throughout the arc. There's plenty more to come because as far as Dr. Shayne and Sam and Dean and the weekend visits are concerned, the possibilities are indeed endless.

However, since the last five chapters have dealt with the letters story arc, I wanted to let readers know that I had not totally abandoned the format of one shots from the point of view of random characters, including OCs, which you have previously encountered in the series. I plan to return to this format for the next few stories. But you definitely haven't seen the last of Dr. Shayne and even if the boys don't necessarily write more "letters", they'll definitely have more "issues".

* * *

**The stories continue ... watch this space. **


	15. Protective Instinct

**I Wish I Was Your Brother **

**A/N: **It's great to be writing this series again. I want to thank everyone who's put it on alert or chosen it as a favourite. This is for all of you. You guys rock.

* * *

**- FIFTEEN -**

**Protective Instinct**

It was more than plausible that one Winchester brother would commit murder to defend or protect the other. And most people who knew the boys had their bets on Dean. Bobby Singer even joked once that he was going to set up a trust fund so when the time came he would have a ready source of cash to post bail for John's eldest boy. Now I didn't doubt the need for such a fund; but although I wasn't a betting man, my money was on Sam.

I've known the Winchesters for a rather long time and my connection to the family runs deep. John and I became friends very soon after he made hunting his life's mission. When we met, he was a broken man, bitter and confused by the violent death of his wife, Mary. He was on a hunt in a town near my church and looking for a place to leave his kids while he went after a Wendigo. Once the hunt was over he accepted my invitation to stay and rest for a few days. He and his boys have been dropping by ever since. We even developed a bit of a tradition where Sam and Dean would stay a few weeks with me sometimes during the summers.

I was one of the few people who John took into his confidence after Mary's passing. To get him to share his story, I shared mine and that won his trust. He quickly understood that I knew, first-hand, the kind of damage the evil he had encountered could reap on a man's heart and his soul. He realised that although I was a clergyman, for me the devil wasn't some cartoon creature with a pitchfork and a long tail. For me, the hunt was real and John had a healthy respect for that.

It was this respect that gave me access to the edges of the inner sanctums of the Winchester family. But make no mistake, permission to approach, wasn't necessarily permission to enter. And while I never had the easy familiarity that Bobby Springer enjoyed with both John and his sons; I managed to get close enough to observe and understand the family's dynamics. That gave me an unencumbered view of the extraordinary bond between those Winchester boys.

Over the years, it broke and healed my heart to watch Sam and Dean. The truth is I had more in common with the Winchesters than hunting. Like them, I'd had my own family torn apart by evil.

I was only twelve when my home was attacked by what I later understood were demons. I woke suddenly in the dead of the night to hear my parents screaming and my mother begging for her children's lives. My big brother Stefan had come running into my room. He hugged me and told me not to be afraid. Then he had said I should jump out of the window and run to the church at the end of our road and tell the priests that Mom and Dad were in trouble. I'd told him to come with me, and he insisted that I should go first and he would follow. Then he kissed me on my forehead and told me he loved me.

It was the last thing he ever said to me.

By the time I got to the church and raised the alarm; and the priests organised a hunting party and rush to my house, my entire family was dead. When I overheard the clergymen discussing the massacre, they reasoned that Stefan had deliberately attracted the demons' attention to himself to give me time to escape. He managed to save my life, but he'd been torn to shreds.

In the years after I met John, I came to admire him for summoning up the strength to keep going after he and his boys had suffered such unspeakable tragedy. I'd never had his courage and I'd taken refuge in hunting; dedicating my life to expunging the evil that had ruined my family. I found sanctuary in the priesthood and decided from a very early age that I would have no wife and no children. Family made you vulnerable to the schemes of the devil; and I had no intention of presenting Satan with an Achilles heel.

Somehow John had been able to fight the battle and keep his sons from becoming dysfunctional even with the burden of their knowledge of just how powerful the forces of evil could be. However, in the face of their constant exposure to danger and death, those boys developed a powerful mutual protective instinct. Dean's love for his sibling was legendary and as far as most people were concerned, while it was extreme, it was also in-keeping with the natural order of things. After all, everyone knows that big brothers are protectors and little brothers are protected.

The so-called natural order was clearly reflected in the dynamics between Dean and Sam; but even when the boys were young I had detected something else. The ferocity with which Dean cared for his little brother was in fact equalled by the feral devotion that Sam had for him.

You see, that's what very few people were able to understand. Little brothers may be younger and most often smaller, but that didn't mean we didn't have the same innate desire to protect our protectors.

I never fully recovered from the revelation that my big brother had died trying to protect me. In fact, if fate had given me the choice I would have given _**my**_ life to save _**him**_. So whenever I thought of Bobby's little joke about the trust-fund, my money was always on Sam.

My money was on Sam because in watching those boys grow up I had seen the extreme love and devotion that _**he**_ had for _**his**_ big brother. Maybe it was something only another little brother could truly understand. I'd watch that love evolve as Sam moved from toddler to teenager; and over the years it only seemed to grow in depth and intensity.

It was a love that some people seemed to have underestimated … and they did so at their peril.

The first time I saw that love clearly manifested Sam was only about ten years old. Dean had started going on hunts as soon as he became a teenager but John had relegated him to simple jobs. However, the summer he turned 14, John had taken Dean to track and kill a Missca and the nasty beast had tossed him around pretty badly before John was able to put it down.

Sam had stayed with me, planted on my front porch waiting for his father and brother to come back. When he saw his brother bruised and bloodied, he broke down and wept hysterically. While John clean, treated and bandaged Dean's wounds I tried, and failed, to calm Sam down. John hadn't wanted his youngest to see the injuries up close but the separation from his wounded brother left Sam inconsolable.

Finally, when John had Dean wrapped up in bed he said Sam and I could see him. As soon as we entered the room, Sam headed straight for the bed, obviously needing to be close to his big brother.

"Careful Sammy," John chided gently as Sam climbed onto the bed beside his injured sibling. "Your brother's pretty sore."

"It's O.K. Dad," Dean raised his arm so Sam could snuggle up next to him.

Seeing them like that brought back a flood of memories from when they were very younger. Little Sammy had always brought out Dean's soft side; a side I suspect Dean revealed to very few people. For me it had been fascinating to see Dean's face soften and his tone of voice change when his little brother reached out for him demanding to be hugged or cuddled. I used to watch, in amazement, as a change came over Dean whenever Sam climbed onto his lap or snuggled up beside him content and secure as long as he was close to his big brother. And even now that they were getting older, I still suspected that Sam's constant need for his attention and affection did more for Dean's self-esteem than a thousand compliments on his hunting skills from his father.

Now, even John was momentarily silenced by the calm that came over his boys as they held one another.

Sensing the family should be left alone, I excused myself but I paused to listen outside the door.

"Sammy," John goaded, "Your brother's a little banged up maybe you should stay in your own bed tonight."

"No," the small voice wailed in horrified objection. "I wanna stay with Dean."

"Sam," John warned gently, but Dean cut him off.

"It's alright Dad, honest," Dean whispered, clearly exhausted. "Sammy can sleep with me."

Even John knew better than to get between his boys when one was hurt or vulnerable.

"Alright," he relented. "I suppose you both need it. Good night boys, sleep well."

There was a brief, soft chorus of replies then I moved quickly to my own room before John caught me listening. Several moments later as I walked past the boys' door on my way to the living room I could hear Sam sobbing and Dean trying to sooth him.

"Everything's OK Sammy. I'm fine."

"No you're not," Sam sniffed. "You're hurt."

"Yeah, well it's nothing that won't be better in a few days so stop worrying."

"I don't want you to hunt Dean," Sam confessed. "I don't want anything to happen to you."

"Sammy, it's O.K, honest."

"You sure?"

"Sure, I'm sure."

"O.K," Sam relented, reluctantly. "Thanks for letting me stay with you."

"Thanks for wanting to," Dean said, yawning tiredly.

"Dean."

"Yeah Sammy."

"I'm scared for you."

"Don't be. Dad's not going to let anything happen to me and he's bigger and stronger than all the bad guys. I'll be O.K. Sam trust me."

Dean's assertion that their father's mere presence meant no serious harm would come to him seemed to work, for a while. But two years later, John's mystique had worn thin and a little brother's wrath was felt.

That summer, when the boys came to visit the dynamic between them seemed to have been changing. Dean was a typical teenager, craving adventure and revelling in the company of girls while Sam seemed moody and emotional. I tried a little to get him to open up and quickly discovered that Sam Winchester only spilled his guts to one person.

For his part, Dean seemed to be ignoring his brother's brooding until one afternoon, things came to a head. I came into my study to do some research and heard the boys arguing right under the window.

"We don't talk anymore," Sam had said and there was no mistaking the hurt in his voice.

It was so rare to hear a male express his emotions in such an unbridled manner that the sheer vulnerability of it moved me.

However, Dean didn't seem to be in the mood to play nice.

"What am I?" he asked mockingly. "Your girlfriend?"

"No," Sam said, his voice breaking on the single syllable. "You're my _**big brother.**_"

I could tell from the muffled sounds that Sam had started sobbing. A tense silence followed. I listened apprehensively, wondering if I should intervene. I got up to look out the window in time to see Dean take his brother by the shoulders.

"Hey," he said softly. "I didn't mean anything by it."

"Forget it," Unconvinced, Sam shrugged off Dean's grip then turned his back and continued to cry.

"Sammy," Dean tried again, this time gently turning his sibling back to face him. "I didn't mean to be a jerk. Come here."

Dean opened his arms and Sam moved into them and then lowered his head to rest on Dean's chest.

"I'm sorry," Dean soothed, rubbing his little brother's back. "It's O.K. Sammy, don't cry."

When the sobbing subsided Dean kept Sam close as he questioned him gently.

"O.K, what's up?" he asked, keeping his voice soft. "Why are you so emo all of a sudden?"

"It's kinda hard being here," Sam admitted.

"At Pastor Jim's? You love it here Sammy."

"Yeah, I do but this time it's tough."

"Why?"

"I don't know, I guess it's because we get to be in the same place for longer than a few days. We have a living room and a kitchen, we sleep in the same beds for more than one night and it just makes me wish it was like this all the time."

"Oh," Dean tightened his embrace and remained silent for a while, apparently contemplating his brother's words. "Sammy I know how much you wish things were different but even if we're not 'normal' ... you, me and Dad, we're a family. And so what if we're not like everyone else, we've got each other."

"But I feel like I never see you anymore," Sam complained. "Since we've been here, you've been acting like you don't even wanna be around me and all you wanna do is sneak off to have beer or go hang out with girls."

"When you're my age, all you'll wanna do is hang out with girls too," Dean joked.

"I don't think so," Sam pulled back and made a face.

"Trust me," Dean cuffed him gently on the chin. "Give it a few years and you'll understand."

"So you don't wanna hang with me?"

"Don't be an idiot Sammy, I always wanna hang with my pain in the butt little brother."

Finally, Sam smiled.

"You sure?"

"Sure, I'm sure," Dean said easily. "So what do wanna do today? You choose."

"Seriously?" Sam sounded genuinely excited now.

"Yeah, seriously," Dean slipped an arm around his sibling's shoulder and began leading him away from my window. "I'm all yours."

Suddenly Sam stopped and looked straight at his brother. "I'm all yours too," he said truthfully.

"Hey, come on," Dean held up his hands trying to downplay the rising emotions.

But Sam hadn't yet grasped that as a man he was to be cagey about his feelings, so if his brother felt weird, he didn't care.

"I mean it Dean," he said sincerely. "You're my big brother; you're the best thing in my life."

Even Dean couldn't let machismo rob them of this moment. "Well you've always been the best thing in mine," he admitted, gently mussing Sam's hair.

I turned away from the window and sat on the nearest seat that would accommodate me. I bit my lip and closed my eyes as I struggled to keep my emotions in check. Those deep, heartfelt admissions took me back to the night I was held, kissed and then helped out of a window. The night my big brother had told me that he loved me and I hadn't said it back. The night my big brother died for me not knowing that given the choice, I would have died for him.

Sam was almost the same age I had been when I lost Stefan but at least he hadn't let awkwardness or masculine pride stop him from letting Dean know how much he meant to him. If, God forbid, Dean should die tonight at least Sam could take comfort in the fact that his big brother knew he loved him.

Sadly, my thoughts almost proved prophetic.

A few days later Dean and John set out on hunt only to return with Dean bleeding and barely conscious. Sam had been left behind again and when John drove up and lifted a semi-comatose Dean out of the car Sam was shocked speechless. I quickly phoned Dr. Rory Barnes, a friend who provided medical care for hunters without asking questions. He came and performed what could well be categorised as minor surgery on Dean then left after his patient was stitched up and well-medicated.

Once it became clear that Dean was out of harm's way, Sam recovered his voice and was not in the mood to be reasonable. John had been out in my front yard getting some fresh air and trying to steady his nerves when he was suddenly accosted by his youngest.

Emboldened by both fear and fright, Sam tore into his father with unrelenting fury.

"What the hell happened?" Sam demanded squaring off with John despite their significant difference in height.

"You watch that tone." John warned. He knew, more than anyone, how Sam felt about his big brother but there was a limit to what he would take, even in a crisis.

"You were supposed to take care of him," Sam shrilled, his voice breaking with anger. "How could you let him get hurt like that?"

"It was an accident," John returned the heat, obviously unimpressed with the accusation.

"It wouldn't have happened if I was there," Sam argued.

"_You?"_ John asked incredulously. "What could you have done?"

"I could have protected my big brother," Sam yelled furiously. "Like he's always done for me, like **YOU** should have done."

Absolutely stunned, I watched the scene unfold. That's when it became clear to me that Sam would take on anyone who he felt had let his brother get hurt, even his father. For his part I think John was staggered too.

"You think you're the only one who cares about him?" John asked his eyes wide with anger and shock. "You think I would _**ever**_ deliberately let anything or anyone hurt him if I could prevent it?"

"No," Sam gasped sounding genuinely remorseful about the turn the conversation had taken. "It's not that."

"Then what is it?" John asked more exasperated than angry.

Sam turned away from his father and covered his face with his hands. Suddenly, the rage had blown off leaving a quivering twelve year old, scared to death that he might lose the person who mattered the most to him.

"I can't stand to see him hurt," Sam sobbed, his voice breaking under the strain of his fear. "Dad, I just can't stand to see him hurt."

John was probably the toughest hunter I've ever come across but his weakness was his boys. Seeing Dean injured and having Sam cry would stir the kind of hurt he spent most of his time denying he was capable of feeling. He reached out for Sam and pulled him into a tight hug. Sam dissolved against him desperate for the comfort.

"I can't stand it either Sammy," John admitted softly. "But he'll be alright. I'll make sure of that."

John made the vow but Sam silently dedicated himself to making good on the promise. Having realised that Dean could actually suffer hurt under their father's watch Sam seemed to have concluded that he couldn't trust Dean's safety to anyone but himself. After that, he threw himself into hunting surprising even John with his willingness to volunteer even when the mission seemed dangerous. I understood that he was trying desperately to safeguard what mattered most to him.

Over the next few years I watched Sam develop a subtle but aggressive protective streak towards his brother. Then, the summer that Sam turned fifteen a most chilling incident occurred. John was on the trail of whatever killed his wife and had hastily deposited his sons at my place deeming the mission too dangerous for either of them. Dean had not been pleased about being left behind but John didn't entertain the argument. The boys had been with me for a few days when two hunters, Nolan and Gray dropped by. They said they were hunting a Scrender in some nearby woods and they were waiting for the full moon scheduled for the following night to bring him out. While I never completely trusted either of those men, any hunters staying in town or passing through were always welcomed to drop by my place.

They spent a few hours with me one afternoon and noticed Sam and Dean around the house.

"Say," Nolan quipped eyeing the brothers with interest, "Those are John Winchester's boys, aren't they."

"Yes," I responded, casually. "Sam and Dean."

It only lasted a few seconds but I noticed the look that passed between the two long-time partners.

"The older one's already getting a good reputation in hunting circles."

"John's trained him well," I said.

"Seems to me that a boy like that ought to be able to handle himself even without his Daddy around," Nolan speculated.

"Well since John's not here, I'm in charge, and the boys don't go on hunts without their father."

"And how old is that boy anyway?" Gray inquired.

"Eighteen," I informed him.

Again, the men exchanged conspiratorial looks.

"Eighteen," Gray repeated contemplatively. "That sounds just about right."

"Just about right for what?" I asked with enough of an edge in my voice to let both men know that I had no intention of compromising on John's rules for his sons.

Nolan jumped in quickly, silencing his partner with a dismissive wave. "Just about right to make his own decisions but if you say Daddy doesn't allow them out without him then that's that ain't it?"

I had thought that would be the end of the matter but then late the following evening I was coming downstairs and heard Dean and Sam arguing in the living room. From what I overheard of their conversation I quickly deduced that Nolan and Gray had somehow managed to approach Dean and convinced him to join the hunt.

"Where do you think you're going?" Sam was asking.

"On the hunt," Dean replied.

"But Dad's not here."

"And I can go without him. I'm legal anyway; I don't need Dad's permission."

"But you don't even know these guys."

"It's not like I'm planning to marry them Sam," Dean sneered. "Pastor Jim seemed OK with them and they're hunters, what more do I need to know?"

"So you're just going to go off?"

"I'll be back later tonight or early tomorrow."

"I don't want you to go."

"Sam."

"Dean, please. I got a bad feeling about this."

"Yeah but you always have a bad feeling."

"If you're going to go then let me come too," Sam insisted.

"No you're staying here. If anything happens to you I have to answer to Dad and I can do without the drama."

"So who exactly is answerable if anything happens to you?"

"I got this one. It's a straightforward hunt. This thing only comes out when there's a full moon so it'll come out tonight, we'll kill it and I'll be back before you know it."

"Not so fast," I intervened.

Both boys turned around to face me and it struck me, as it did when they had first arrived how much Sam had grown. He was now the same height as Dean, he had bulked up considerably and it was clear the growth spurt wasn't over. But I knew even if Sam eventually gained the height and weight advantage, he would always be the "little" brother.

"You know the rules Dean," I addressed John's eldest directly. "You're not allowed to go on hunts without your father."

"I'm eighteen Pastor Jim that no longer applies to me."

"Until your father informs me that the rules have been adjusted the status quo stands."

"With all due respect Pastor Jim, legally I'm an adult, so you really can't tell me what to do."

"Dean!" Sam objected.

"No Sam," I said calmly, deciding to appeal to reason. "Dean is right; he's old enough to make his own decisions. But, Dean, I have to tell you, Nolan and Gray would not be my choice of partners for your first outing without your father."

I forgot that Dean was a Winchester, stubborn and proud. Consequently, my expression of concern was interpreted as a challenge.

"I can handle myself," Dean declared, eyes flaring with defiance.

That had been the end of the matter. And when Nolan and Gray came to pick him up later that night, I didn't protest when Dean walked out the front door.

While Dean was gone Sam combed through all my books trying to find more information on the Scrender. It wasn't a creature I was familiar with and so I had no idea where to tell him to look. When I turned in that night he was still at it. I figured the hunt would be over and Dean would return before he stopped reading. Sometime after midnight I heard an urgent knock on my bedroom door. I opened up to see Sam, his face stricken with panic.

"I found it," he said urgently.

"Where?" I asked. "I wasn't aware that I had any kind of information on Screnders. I've never even heard of them."

"I found it in my Dad's journal," Sam said holding up a leather binder filled with papers which looked very much like the book I'd always seen John using to take notes. "Pastor Jim, I think Dean's in trouble."

"Calm down Sam," I admonished. "What did you read?"

"Dad said these things feed during the full moon and they prey on adolescent males."

"What?" I ran to my bedside table to get my glasses and then took the book from Sam.

"Dad wrote that the best way to catch one is to use live bait."

"Oh dear God!" I looked at the pages hurriedly seeing that John's notes confirmed what Sam had said. "I never really trusted Nolan and Gray but it's hard to think that any hunter would use a kid as bait to catch a creature?"

"I told Dean I had a bad feeling about this. Pastor Jim, we've got to go find him. My gut's telling me my brother's in trouble."

"O.K," I said, wracking my brain trying to figure out how to approach this particular dilemma. "Let me put on some clothes and then we'll decide what to do."

"Hurry," Sam urged, stepping out of the room to allow me some privacy.

When I emerged a few moments later fully dressed Sam was still in the hallway, pacing.

"Did they say where they were going?" He asked as I stepped out of my room.

"No. Just that Screnders rest in the woods. The nearest place dense enough for a creature to hide is about half hour out of town. We can start there."

We both headed downstairs and were crossing the living room to go through my front door when the telephone rang. At this hour, the shrill sound gave me the chills. Phone calls after midnight rarely meant good news.

"Hello," I answered urgently.

On the other end I could hear Nolan and Gray arguing before Nolan realised I'd picked up.

"Jim," he said, his voice trembling with panic. "You'd better call that doctor friend of yours and see if he can come by real quick."

"What happened?"

"The hunt didn't really go according to plan and young Dean sustained some injuries."

Sam must have seen the shock register on my face because he immediately started asking questions.

"Where are they? What did they do to my brother?"

I raised a hand to quiet him.

"What happened to Dean?" I demanded.

"The Scrender got to him Jimmy. Me and Gray were able to kill it but it did a little bit of damage before we could put its lights out."

I breathed in deeply, wondering how in heaven's name I would tell John that one of his boys had gotten hurt on my watch.

"How quickly can you get here?"

"In about 20 minutes."

"Do it in 10." I ordered.

I terminated the call and then quickly dialled Dr. Barnes and told him it was an emergency. By the time I finished talking to him I realised that Sam had gone out to the veranda to wait for the return of the ill-fated hunting party. Whatever he had gathered about his brother's condition from listening to me, had told him enough.

When I stepped out on the porch and he turned to look at me there was fire in his eyes. His young face betrayed an abject rage that was so potent I thought it would blaze up and burn me.

I remembered the last time we were together when Dean came home from a hunt injured. I remembered how Sam had railed at his father for allowing harm to come to his brother. And that had been the hurt and anger of a pre-adolescent boy. Now, I was looking at an enraged young man with the strength of a bull and the skills of a trained killer to act on his fury.

Suddenly, I felt very afraid.

The doctor arrived first and immediately began setting up shop in my guest room. He knew the drill and could find clean sheets and plenty towels on his own. What seemed like hours later Nolan's dilapidated vehicle came rumbling up my driveway. Sam bolted from the porch and ran towards the old car. Nolan barely managed to hit the brakes before Sam yanked open the back door to get to his brother. I ran up behind Sam and quickly assisted him in lifting Dean out of the car. Dr. Barnes rushed out of the house behind us trying to get a look at Dean and assess his injuries.

"Get him inside," the doctor ordered after just a quick once over.

Nolan and Gray jumped out of the car and ran around to help but they weren't fast enough. Sam and I carried Dean into the house and up the stairs, and then laid him out on the bed in the room Dr. Barnes had prepared. I noted that he had covered the bed with a thick sheet of plastic to make the post opt clean up easier.

Quickly and gently, Sam and I deposited Dean on the bed. When he was fully laid out, we had a chance to look at him and it wasn't pretty. His T-shirt was soaked in blood which appeared to be seeping from wounds to his chest.

"I need to be alone with my patient," Dr. Barnes said, digging in his bag for the necessary equipment.

But Sam stood his ground. "I'm not leaving my brother," he said, his mouth set in a thin line.

"Sam," Dr. Barnes didn't look up from his work. "There's nothing you can do."

"I can help," Sam insisted.

"Sure you can, and you can start by letting me to my job."

I dropped a hand on Sam's shoulder to steer him out of the room. We both paused to look back at Dean, aghast at the bloody mess. I swallowed hard when Dr. Barnes cut away his T-shirt revealing what appeared to be extensive injuries. I quickly recalled that John's notes said that Screnders fed on vital organs first and I realised that those wounds had most likely been inflicted while the creature was trying to tear out Dean's heart.

I glanced over at Sam and saw that he was carrying out his own assessment. A dark look shadowed his usually innocent eyes sending me the disturbing signal that he had come to the same conclusion. Instantly, Sam turned and walked out of the room, heading downstairs to the kitchen where Nolan and Gray were waiting, anxiously.

"What happened?" Sam asked his tone was so controlled and deliberate that my blood ran cold.

"Things kinda got out of control," Gray volunteered anxiously wringing his hands. "We set a trap and..."

"We had a good plan," Nolan cut him off. Being the smart one in their little duo, he must have sensed Sam's mounting rage. "But things got off kilter and Dean got hurt."

"You used him as bait, didn't you," Sam said so softly that I was now deathly afraid.

"Now look here boy," Nolan held his hands up in an appeasing gesture. "No one deliberately tried to hurt your brother."

For the second time in less than half an hour I saw black rage redden Sam's face and his eyes flare with anger.

"Screnders feed on adolescent boys, not on grown men, neither of you could have lured it out of hiding, but Dean could. You used my brother as prey for that monster."

"So what if we did," Gray seemed to have gotten fed up of being interrogated by a 15 year old, even if he did look more like 20. "Hunters use all kinds of bait all the time. And Dean's got plenty experience by now, we figured he'd be quick enough and smart enough to get out of the way in time."

"So he didn't even know?" Sam hissed. "You put Dean's life at risk and he didn't even know the game plan?"

"We got to him in time," Gray bragged even as I prayed he'd wise up and shut his mouth. "Plus we killed that nasty Scrender and this town is safer for everyone."

"Wrong on that score," Sam seethed stepping towards Gray. "It's safer for everyone besides the two of you."

One minute Gray was standing there looking defiant and the next he was gasping and pleading for his life. Sam backed him up against the kitchen wall and then his hands clamped on to Gray's neck like forceps.

I froze as I watched the quiet, gentle young man seemingly intent on committing murder in my kitchen.

Nolan was quicker to respond; he grabbed Sam from behind and tried to pull him off his partner. In my estimation, it was Nolan's action that saved Gray's life because when Nolan refused to let go, Sam turned on him. While Gray slipped to the floor gagging, a fist flew to Nolan's gut doubling him over. Then several more punches flew and the round of blows was capped off with a right hook to Nolan's bowed face which sent crumpling to the ground.

It was when Sam set his sights back on Gray that I pulled myself out my shocked stupor and grabbed him in a firm shoulder lock. This young man, who I had known since he was a little boy, was not going to shed blood under my roof.

"Stop it!" I ordered with a firmness that John himself would have been hard pressed to surpass.

"They hurt my brother," Sam said as if that justified this severe level of retaliation. "They risked his life to catch a freaking monster."

He strained to get out of my grasp but I held on with all my strength knowing, with a deep certainty, that I held Sam's fate in my hands.

"So what are you going to do?" I asked desperately, "Kill them?"

The silent response told me that I wasn't far from the mark. On my kitchen floor, nursing their wounds, Nolan and Gray realised the same thing.

"Well I'll be damned," Nolan hissed, holding his stomach with one hand while trying to pull himself up with the other. "That boy's as crazy as his Daddy."

Still flat on the ground, coughing and rubbing his sore neck, Gray couldn't respond.

"It's always the quiet ones that you gotta watch out for," Nolan got to his feet but barely managed to keep his balance.

"Get out!" I shouted with fierceness that was unbecoming of a clergyman. "Leave now, before I let him loose and you both know he'll kill you."

For two men nursing injuries they managed to haul themselves out of my house in record time. In spite of my threat I held on to Sam until Nolan's car cleared my driveway. I knew if I released him he would most likely chase after the vehicle to finish what he had started. When I could no longer hear the rumble of the car's engine I let Sam go. He blew out of the kitchen, went upstairs and sat in the hallway outside the guest room door and waited.

The doctor worked on Dean for almost an hour and the whole time, Sam didn't move. I stayed in the living room to give Sam some space and didn't go upstairs until I heard the bedroom door open.

"He's going to be O.K," Dr. Barnes was assuring Sam when I joined the conversation. "It wasn't as bad as it looked. Whatever attacked him was obviously stopped before it did some real damage but he's got some nasty slashes."

Sam nodded solemnly.

"He's going to have to be on some heavy painkillers and antibiotics for a little while," the doctor continued.

"I'll make sure he takes them," Sam said before I could even respond.

"I know you will," Dr. Barnes said. "His cuts will need to be dressed every day and the bandages have to be changed daily as well."

"I'll handle that too," once again Sam was leaving no doubt as to who would be responsible for Dean.

"I'll pass by day after tomorrow to check up on him, but if he starts experiencing any unexpected symptoms like fever or severe pain, please call me immediately, O.K."

"I will." Again, it was Sam who answered. "And thanks for everything Dr. Barnes."

"Don't mention it kid. I sedated him and he's drifting in and out, so he's going to be pretty incoherent. Once he falls asleep he should be out for the rest of the night so you two get some rest."

"I'm staying with my brother," Sam said firmly.

Dr. Barnes shook his head as Sam stepped past him and went into the guest room. "Why am I not surprised?"

I saw the doctor out and when I came back to the room Sam was sitting on Dean's bed, his brother's hand in his.

"Don't you ever scare me like that again," he was saying softly.

"Sorry," Dean muttered, sounding completely spaced out. He would be in oblivion very soon.

"You should be," Sam feigned sternness, but then his voice hitch and his head dropped. "My god Dean, I could have lost you."

"M'sorry."

Sam took a deep breath to pull himself together. "Make it up to me by getting better quick."

"'K." Dean's head fell limply to one side.

"Just rest," Sam soothed, running his free hand through his brother's hair. "I'll be right here if you need me."

"I kn'w" was the last thing Dean uttered.

"Idiot," Sam whispered to his sleeping brother, his voice laced with anguish and fondness. "I love you so damn much."

I moved away from the door knowing that I was dangerously on the verge of breaking down. With all my heart I missed Stefan and knew I would have given anything to be able to say those words to him sleeping or awake. I took refuge in my room until the sudden wave of grief had crested over me and I regained control of my emotions. Then I got up to do my duty. Yes, I too was a little brother, but after tonight's events, I needed to have a serious talk with Sam.

Naturally, I found him at Dean's bedside, still holding on to his brother's hand. I knew it didn't make any sense to tell him to go to his own bed, he wouldn't leave his brother.

He looked up when he heard me enter but there wasn't the slightest hint of culpability on his face. When I gently admonished him for his earlier violent outburst he responded with defiance.

"They used by brother as bait," he repeated. "They almost got him killed."

"What they did was reprehensible and I'm in no way excusing it. But Sam, if I hadn't held you back you would have killed both those men."

"Maybe," Sam didn't flinch.

"Listen to yourself," I urged. "I fully respect the fact that you feel responsible for Dean's safety and wellbeing but even so Sam, there's a line that you **cannot** cross."

"There's nothing I won't do to make sure he's alright."

Clearly, I was losing this argument; but I wasn't going to give up until he came around to my way of thinking.

"I know you love him more than anything, but promise me you won't cross that line."

Sam looked me dead in the eyes. "I won't make a promise I'm not sure I can keep."

Now, it was me who flinched.

"Sam," I made one last attempt. "I understand how you feel about Dean, after all, I'm a little brother too."

"You can never understand," he dismissed me and turned his attention back to Dean's sleeping form. "You may be a little brother, but you're not Dean Winchester's little brother."

**THE END**

**Don't change the channel. When it comes to our favourite boys, they're always more stories. I hope you'll keep coming along for the ride. Stay tuned for more...**


	16. Sibling Rivalry

**I Wish I Was Your Brother **

**A/N: **I know it's been a long while since I've posted. I think my muse took a summer hiatus. It seems to have returned, so this is for all of you encouraged me to keep writing while the muse was away.

**A/N: **This is a little something for the schmoop deprived. Enjoy.

* * *

**- SIXTEEN -**

**Sibling Rivalry**

My older brother Brandon always complained that I got everything I wanted. But if that were really true, he and I would have had a relationship like Sam and Dean Winchester's.

I was only twelve when I met Sam and Dean. Sam and I were at the same summer math boot camp and we became friends during the first week of classes. The camp was for "gifted kids" and Sam was so good he'd actually gotten in on a scholarship. Me, I just thought it would be a cool way to spend the summer and so my father paid to get me a spot. I really liked math and wanted to be great at it, but for Sam it just all seemed to come easily.

At first I was in serious competition with him because he was always at the top of the class; but for him there was no rivalry. So much so, that when I was having a really rough time with calculus, he offered to help me and we became fast friends after that.

While some of the other kids were looking for ways to slack off we were always trying to get a hundred percent on all the assignments. We studied together for tests and quickly became known as the brightest boys in the camp.

Sam coming to town totally turned around my summer. I had thought it was gonna be a miserable July because my parents had gone on a four week European cruise leaving me alone with the housekeeper, Aurora, a driver and Brandon. To understand my misery, you'd have to get caught up on my family history.

Brandon and I were really half brothers. To me, that didn't matter, but to him it did and let me know every chance he got. You see Dad was married to Brandon's Mom for about twelve years and for eight of those years he was seeing my Mom. When I was seven and Brandon was eleven, Dad divorced his Mom and not even a year later, he married mine. Brandon never forgave him, or me.

It was hard when he had to come and spend the summers with us; but it was worse the year he turned seventeen and had to move in. By then his Mother was "unstable" according to my Mom. And from the whispers I overheard I realised that she had a drug problem. Apparently, she refused to get help so Dad decided he didn't want his son growing up in that kind of environment. Brandon came to live with us and his resentment turned to hatred.

When I was old enough to understand how complicated our family was I got why Brandon was always so upset. His Mother and Dad had hired my Mom as their personal trainer. I won't get into all the gory details of how it all played out, but needless to say there was a lot of lies, hiding and sneaking around. And when it all came to light, no one looked good.

So I understood why Brandon was always so mad at Dad and my Mom. But what I could never understand is why he was mad at me. The whole thing had been really shocking to me too because for years Mom had said she would tell me about my dad, "when the time was right". Then I found out it was the nice, rich, man who had always been her "special client".

To this day, I still found it a little awkward to be around my father but he didn't seem to care. In fact, his answer to everything was to just buy me more stuff. And Mom only wanted shop for clothes and jewellery, party at the country club and fly off on vacation. She finally had everything she'd always wanted and boy was she enjoying it.

On the other hand, it all sucked for Brandon and me. I was really confused when all the stuff with Mom and Dad came out but when I heard I had a big brother, deep down, I'd felt excited. But when Dad took me to meet him, Brandon threw at fit. He screamed at Dad and at me and he'd been screaming ever since.

* * *

I can still remember the day Sam introduced me to his big brother. We'd had a test that day and Dean was picking him up after class. Sam was in such a rush to go out and meet him that I had to jog a bit to keep up.

Dean stepped out of an awesome black car, looking like a movie-star tough guy in his jeans and leather jacket.

"How'd you do?" he asked when Sam came up to him.

"Top of the class," Sam said proudly.

"That's my boy!" Dean whooped, giving Sam a high-five before pulling him into a quick hug and rubbing his head.

"You owe me Pizza!" Sam said with a grin that was at least a mile wide.

"You earned it," Dean kept his arm around Sam's shoulder, while Sam stood there looking thrilled to be soaking up the praise. "You keep up this freaking brilliance and I'm gonna end up broke."

That made Sam laugh out loud. "If you don't wanna go broke, stop making bets you can't afford."

Laughing just as hard, Dean opened the passenger door of his car for Sam.

"You shut up and get in before I make you starve."

"Hey," Sam finally remembered I was with him. "This is Chris, who I told you about."

Dean turned his attention to me and suddenly I felt self-conscious. I don't know what I was expecting but it certainly wasn't the wicked smile I got.

"So," he said. "You're the other math nerd that's geeky enough to keep up with Sam. Good to meet you."

I tentatively shook the hand he offered.

"Nice to meet you too. I've heard a lot about you."

"Yeah? Well don't believe a word geek boy says."

"Don't worry. It's all good."

"So how did you do on the test?"

"I got the second highest mark, behind Sam."

"Awesome!"

It took me a few second to realise that Dean's raised hand meant he was giving me a high five. When I slapped my palm to his I felt like a million dollars. Having a guy like Dean give me props for getting good grades really felt cool.

"So can Chris come with us for Pizza?" Sam asked.

I was sorry he did that because I figured Dean would probably say no. He'd offered to treat Sam, not me.

"Sure," Dean said easily. "I'm feeding one nerd, may as well feed the other."

"That's nice of you, but I can't."

"Why?" Sam asked curiously. "Your folks are away, do you think your brother would mind."

Mind? He couldn't have cared less.

"It's not that," I told them. "I just don't want to crowd in on your celebration."

"Well if it's just that don't worry," Sam waved it off. "Come on, you'll love this pizza place. One of the waitresses has the hots for Dean so we get extra cheese for free."

I went with them, and that's what changed my life.

* * *

Before Sam, I hardly ever brought any friends home but I invited him for a sleep over so we could study for a math test.

I should have known better.

Sure it was cool at first when it was just us and Aurora. She made her killer spaghetti and brownies and we chilled a bit playing video games. We were well into our marathon math session when Brandon came home with what looked like at least ten people.

They came straight into the den where Sam and I were studying chatting and laughing loudly. Courtney Fender-Clay, the girl I'd once heard Brandon call his "summer fling" was at the front of the pack hanging on to him. Everyone knew that the Fender-Clays were loaded but for some reason Courtney always looked trashy. Tonight, she was in a very short mini-skirt and a tight, skimpy top that looked like a bra. She and a few of the other girls in the group had grocery bags with snacks and stuff and some of the guys were carrying six packs.

"Beat it!" Brandon said when he saw Sam and I in the room. "We're gonna watch the basketball game."

"But we're cramming for our math test tomorrow," I said.

"And I'm supposed to care?"

Brandon's face had that sneer that told me he was about to get nasty. I was so sick of him treating me like dirt. This was my home too.

"I was here first."

"Kid, let's not even talk about who was here before who."

"You can watch the game in your room."

Lord knows Brandon's TV was big enough. When he was moving in Dad had splashed out on all kinds of stuff to set up his room so he would feel at home. However, like everything else Dad had done to bridge the gap, it hadn't worked.

"If anyone is relocating it's going to be you."

"Make me." I yelled feeling like anger was bubbling up in my stomach. These days it didn't take much for me to start getting angry when I had to deal with my brother.

"Look you little brat, I understand you want to put on a big show for Sean's benefit."

"His name is Sam!"

"I don't give a crap what you call him; but if I kick your butt right here in front of him neither of you is going to enjoy it."

I know my face must have been the colour of one those corny little red hearts girls give guys on Valentine's Day. Brandon always spoke to me like I was pond scum; but when he did it in front of people it hurt so bad. It wasn't enough for him to hate me; he wanted everyone else to hate me too.

Something in me really wanted to stand my ground but another part of me just wanted to walk away before he made me feel any worse. In the end, Sam made the decision for me.

"Let's move Chris," he said getting up and gathering his books and papers. "Come on, we can go to your room."

"Good idea _Sean_," Brandon said scornfully then he looked pointedly at me. "Your friend seems a lot smarter than you."

Without another word I picked up my books and walked out with Sam following closely behind me.

"You see what I have to put up with," Brandon was saying to his friends as we left the den. "Spoiled, entitled, self-absorbed, brat."

There was a mumble of response before one of guys in the group piped up. "You're no different Brandon," he said. "You just don't like him because he's your brother from another mother."

That got the whole crew laughing with Brandon's cackling being the loudest. "You shut up and pass the beer," he ordered. "It's time to get this party started."

"I'm really sorry," I said to Sam once we were safely in my room.

"It's cool," he shrugged. "You OK?"

"Yeah," I lied.

Sam looked at me like he wanted to say more but he didn't push it.

We kept cramming for about another hour and then turned in hoping to get a good night's sleep before our test tomorrow. I was half asleep when suddenly loud laughing and chatter started up outside. It seemed the party had moved out to the pool which was right underneath my bedroom window.

Of all the times to have loud, raucous, friends over Brandon had to pick tonight. I could only hope that poor Sam was managing to sleep through the racket. My hopes dimmed when the screaming and splashing started. My guess is that Brandon and his crew had ploughed through the six packs and were now wasted and tossing each other into the pool.

I pulled a pillow over my head to drown out the noise, but it was impossible. Things seemed to go from bad to worse and before I knew it my bedroom door was thrown open and some guy and a girl stood there mauling each other.

"Hey," I said sitting up quickly and switching on my lamp. In the bed beside mine Sam bolted upright too. "We're trying to sleep."

"Ooops," the girl giggled, sounding really spacey. "I guess this one's taken."

"Come on," the guy said dragging her away. "They got at least a hundred rooms in this place."

They laughed and stumbled off leaving Sam and I looking at each other both too embarrassed to say anything.

And if all that wasn't bad enough the next morning as we were having breakfast in the kitchen, Courtney came in yawning. Her hair was all over the place and all she was wearing was a little black lacy thing that looked like a swimsuit. She looked like one of those women in the underwear magazines my mom ordered stuff from.

Sam turned bright red and looked down at his plate. Feeling embarrassed and helpless, I did the same. Courtney totally ignored us and called across the kitchen to Aurora.

"Brandon and I need breakfast in bed; and bring some aspirin while you're at it."

She turned and walked out, almost slamming the door as she went.

I pushed my plate away and looked up at Sam.

"Next time, we go to your house."

* * *

We did go to Sam's house and the difference was like night and day.

Although it was small and the stuff around the place was kinda old, the Winchester's house was a home. And although their Dad was off working and it was only the two of them; Sam and Dean seemed like a complete family.

It was the little things that made their relationship seem special to me. Stuff like the division of chores with Dean cooking and Sam washing up. Or the fact that Dean would actually ask if the music was too loud when he played his hard rock while Sam and I were trying to study.

Then there was the stuff they thought no one saw like the way Dean couldn't come within one foot of Sam without ruffling his hair or slipping an arm around his shoulder. Or, the way Sam would always close his eyes and lean in when his brother reached out for him. Then there was the way Sam would look at Dean when Dean was giving a joke or telling a story, and you could just tell that Sam thought he had the coolest big brother in the world.

When I compared their small, untidy house to my father's spotless, mini mansion, the Winchester's home won, hands down.

* * *

So the Winchester's house became the place where Sam and I would study. And one night, when I stayed over, I saw a side to the brothers' relationship that sent me over the edge.

During a study break, Sam and I had helped Dean wash his car. Dean left us alone to finish rinsing and we got into a major water fight. We both had a blast but it was pretty late in the evening and it got windy while we were outside, soaking wet. When Dean came and found us, he chewed Sam out for playing in water when it was so nippy.

"You'll be half dead with cold and fever by tonight," Dean had said.

He was right.

In spite of a hot shower, soup and hot chocolate, Sam started coughing and sneezing within a few hours. That night we had to turn in early, because there was no way Sam could stay up and study. Dean gave him medicine and sent us both to bed.

I'd only had a few hours sleep when Sam's hacking and sneezing woke me up in the middle of the night. I was about to ask him if he was OK when he tossed off his covers and got out of the bed. He opened the door quietly, like he didn't want to disturb me, and slowly slipped out. After a few moments I got up and went after him wanting to see if he was alright. When I got to the dark stairway I could see him in the living room below, approaching the couch where Dean was kicking back watching TV.

"Dean," Sam mumbled, sounding really tired and really young.

"Hey," Dean immediately sat up and used the remote to mute the TV. "What's up kiddo?"

"I feel sick." Sam complained.

Then I almost gasped out loud when he dropped down on the sofa beside Dean and laid his head against his brother's chest. I braced myself, waiting for Dean to shove Sam away and tell him to grow up and stop being a baby. Instead, Dean wrapped his arms around his little brother and one hand stroked Sam's head while the other rubbed his back.

"This is why I was so mad about that water fight." Dean said softly. "You know it doesn't take much for you to come down with a cold."

Sam just sighed and burrowed in closer. Dean hugged him for a while and then gently eased him back so he could feel his forehead and then his neck.

"OK," Dean sounded really tender. "You're running a slight fever and I know the coughing has been on you all night, but I think you'll survive this one Sammy."

"I feel awful," Sam wailed, and he sounded just like a two year old. "My head hurts and my throat's sore."

He leaned back against Dean and back into the hug. Instead of feeling awkward and moving away, Dean pulled Sam in closer.

"It's O.K." Dean soothed. "Big brother's got you."

I watched from the shadows feeling weird about seeing all this but I couldn't walk away.

"You're such a tough guy," Dean joked softly. "Until you get the sniffles and then you're back in diapers."

I couldn't believe Dean was saying that and there wasn't even a sneer in his voice. And instead of pulling away and feeling embarrassed that he was behaving like a little kid, Sam just buried his face in his brother's neck and held on tight. Sam was acting like a baby and Dean wasn't mocking him, he was comforting him.

Even as the awkwardness tickled my stomach and I felt like something was creeping up the back of my neck, I couldn't look away. I sat there in the shadows just watching and wishing. Instead of seeming silly and mushy, it just seemed so nice.

What was it like to have a big brother that loved you like that? How did it feel to have someone who would hug you real tight when you felt sick or frightened instead of calling you a wimp and shoving you away?

They cuddled for quite a while and I watched. When Sam seemed to be nodding off, Dean drew back a bit.

"It's too soon for your next dose of meds. How about I tuck you back in and wake you up in a few hours?"

"Can I stay down here with you?" Sam asked.

"You need to be in bed," Dean patted his back.

"Please," Sam begged, and that seemed to do the trick.

"O.K," Dean moved to the far end of the couch putting a pillow on his lap so Sam could stretch out and lay down on him. Then Dean pulled down a blanket that had been flung over the back of the sofa and quickly tucked it around Sam. "Try and get some sleep," he said softly and I could see him gently running his fingers through Sam's hair.

I got up quietly and walked away. I couldn't stand to see any more of the love and the closeness.

I tiptoed back to the room and crawled into bed. I lay there thinking about the way Brandon always spoke to me like I was this low piece of life that he just couldn't stomach. I thought about how I'd just heard Dean speak to Sam; all loving and tender like his little brother meant the world to him.

It was possible for brothers to love one another without it being weird. So why couldn't Brandon love me? It had to be because, I just wasn't loveable.

I pulled the covers up over my head and bawled.

* * *

When I woke up the next morning I knew something was wrong. I tried to sit up and my head felt like it weighed at least a hundred pounds. When I swallowed my throat hurt.

I looked at the opposite bed and saw Sam fast asleep under a mountain of blankets. I guess whatever he had, was now messing with me too so I went to find Dean.

"Uh oh," he said when I caught up with him in the kitchen. "Looks like my patient count just doubled."

"Dean, I don't feel so good," I mumbled covering my eyes as a coughing fit began.

"You don't look so good," he came towards me and felt my forehead. "And you sound even worse."

He opened the fridge, took out some juice and poured me a glass. "Well, I'll say this for you," he ruffled my hair. "You're a true friend; you clearly don't want poor Sammy to suffer alone."

That made me laugh, which started up the coughing again.

"Here," Dean got the cold and flu medicine from the dining table. "Dose up, and as soon as Sammy wakes up I'll take you home."

I didn't want to go home; I wanted to stay with them. But of course I couldn't tell them that so I just took my medicine and ate the breakfast Dean made for me and then went back to lie down.

The meds made me really sleepy and I must have clocked out, because one minute I was lying down and the next I was hearing Dean and Sam whispering.

"Sleeping beauty is finally awake," Dean snickered softly. "How're you feeling?"

"A little better," Sam yawned.

I snuck a look out from under the blanket that was covering most of my face and saw Sam shifting to the edge of the bed where Dean was sitting. He put his head in his brother's lap so Dean could pet him.

"I'd say from your level of clinginess, a full recovery is still a way off," Dean teased, brushing Sam's hair out of his face.

"I'll be better soon," Sam promised but then he started hacking again.

"Take it easy little buddy," Dean said rubbing his back which seemed to calm the coughing. "There's no hurry; besides, you got company now."

"Company?"

"Yeah, poor Chris is coming down with a cold too."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. I was just waiting for you to wake up so I can take him home."

"Oh?" Sam sounded worried.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't think he's going to be happy about that. You know his parents are away and he and his brother, Brandon, don't get along."

"They don't?"

"No. It was so weird Dean. It's like his big brother doesn't even like him."

"Don't be such a drama queen Sammy. Cut the poor brother some slack, little brothers are generally a pain in the butt."

"No, it's not even like that. Brandon really doesn't like him. He says really mean things to him and I think it hurts Chris real bad."

"OK, so maybe his brother's a jerk but he's got his parents."

"Yeah, but they haven't been around all summer. I swear Dean, he has all this money but sometimes it's like he's all alone."

"And if that's the case I feel bad for him but if he's sick he should be at home. So let me wake him up and we'll take him back to his place and then I'll make you breakfast and then it's back to bed for you."

"But Dean..."

"Sammy, anything can happen and I can't take responsibility for Chris."

"Why? You take care of me."

"Sure I do," Dean tickled Sam under his chin. "But you're mine Sammy."

And didn't that make Sam the luckiest guy in the world.

I squeezed my eyes shut and swallowed hard.

I wasn't going to cry again.

* * *

Dean helped me get my stuff together, bundled up Sam in the backseat of the Impala and headed for my house. When we drove up Brandon was out front loading up his SUV. Courtney was there in shorts so short I wondered why she even bothered.

Dean pulled up next to Brandon and we both got out of the car.

"You must be Brandon," Dean said guiding me towards my brother. "I'm sorry man but Chris and my little brother Sammy got into a water fight yesterday and it seems they're both paying for it now."

On cue I stared coughing again.

"He's running a slight fever," Dean informed Brandon. "So I gave him some medicine but he'll need some more every few hours."

And just as I had expected, my brother laid into me.

"What the hell is the matter with you? First you run off with god knows who and then you come back sick.

"Hey," Dean raised his hand like he thought he could get Brandon to chill out, but he didn't know my brother. "It's not his fault. Kids catch bugs all the time. You just need to watch him today and make sure he gets his flu meds and he should be OK soon."

"Well I've got plans," Brandon turned the heat on Dean. "I've been planning this beach trip for the last week and I'm not going to blow it off to play nursemaid to this moron."

Did he really have to say that in front of Sam and Dean? Did he really have to let the whole world know just how much he hated me?

"Look dude," Dean sounded annoyed. "Whatever your plans are, you're gonna need to change them 'cause your little brother's sick."

"Guess again," Brandon said, looking over at Courtney who was leaning over to fix some bags in the trunk, giving us a full view of her legs and a bit more.

Totally embarrassed and grossed out, I stared down at my sneakers wishing the freaking ground would just swallow me up.

Dean stepped up to Brandon. "O.K lover boy, I like a hot chick just as much as then next guy but Chris needs you now. So I'd suggest you cancel the steamy weekend and take care of your little brother."

Brandon looked at Dean like he was something he'd rubbed off his shoe.

"What the hell do you think the help is for if not to babysit the brats?"

A really heavy feeling was sitting on my chest, making me feel like the only way to get it off was to scream.

"Aurora is off this weekend," I said trying not to sound like I was about to cry. "You know she goes to visit her family the last Saturday of every month."

"You expect me to keep track of the maid's domestic affairs?" Brandon snapped. "Just call her and tell her she has to come back."

"That's not fair," I cried.

"Oh and you think it's fair that I have to miss my weekend because you went and got yourself sick. So now when the old man calls home he'll have something else to lecture me about. Just get inside before I really get mad."

"What the hell kinda bastard are you?" Dean yelled at Brandon. "The kid is sick and you're pawning him off on some maid so you can go get your groove on with hot pants Barbie."

Brandon's face turned so red, I thought the top of his head would blow off from all the heat.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" He demanded, but I noticed he took a step back. He didn't dare get in Dean's face.

"I'm the dude who's gonna kick your butt outside your own house for being such a damn jerk to your little brother."

One thing I knew about Brandon is he could slice and dice with his mouth but he couldn't fight to save his life. So Dean, all muscled up in his leather jacket and with his mean sneer had my big brother backing off.

But as much as I should have been happy to see someone finally putting Brandon in his place, it all just made me feel even worse. Dean, a stranger until a few days ago, was the one defending me against my own brother. Somehow, if Sam had been in my position there was no question as to whose side his big brother would have been on.

"It's OK Dean," I said putting a hand on his arm in case he meant to sock one to Brandon. "I'll be fine. You can take Sammy home now. Thanks for having me over."

"You sure you're gonna be OK?" Dean forgot Brandon for a moment and focused on me.

"Yeah," I said.

I wanted Dean and Sam to go before Brandon embarrassed me even more. It was bad enough that my brother hated my guts but the whole world didn't have to know.

"All right," Dean gave Brandon one last angry look and then carelessly ruffled my hair. "Call if you need anything."

"Thanks," I said watching him get back into the car and then drive away.

Brandon walked back to his car and tossed a few bags that had been resting in the driveway into the trunk.

"I'm supposed to meet the rest of the guys in half an hour," he said. "I'm late."

I looked at him, helplessly, hoping that for once he would see that I needed him.

I may as well have been invisible.

"You better get inside and call Aurora and tell her to get back here as soon as possible."

He dug in his pocket and pulled out some money. "Here," he shoved the cash at me. "Tell her you've got the money for her cab fair."

"Keep it," I said.

I turned around, ran into the house and slammed the door.

In the safety of the foyer, I looked out of one of the front windows to see Brandon shrug to himself and stuff the money back in his pocket.

He got into his car and drove away.

I was all by myself.

Alone in the house and alone in the world.

* * *

I didn't call Aurora because it didn't seem fair. She waited on us hand and foot, night and day and it wasn't right for me to take away her time with her family just because Brandon didn't care enough to stay with me.

And as I lay in my bed, stuffy and miserable from the cold, my throat throbbing with pain and my head feeling light and dizzy from the fever, I realised no one really cared.

My father only cared about his money, my Mom only cared about her shopping and her parties and my brother only cared about himself. There really wasn't any room for me here, so what was the point in hanging around.

I found the cold medicine in my parents' bathroom. It was in the medicine cabinet with a whole lot of bottles filled with all kinds of pills. The label said it was for adults and should only be administered to children by a physician.

I put the bottle to my mouth and drank until it was empty. It was a bright red, just like the kiddie cough syrup I always took, but it tasted so different. Instead of the sweet cherry taste it was bitter and harsh. When the room started to move around me, I gagged and heaved. Then my stomach started griping like the time I had eaten a whole bucket of ice cream and had ended up sick in bed for days. Heaving and coughing I reached for the phone and barely managed to punch Sam and Dean's number. I didn't call my brother or my parents; I called two people who had been total strangers a couple weeks ago.

When I heard Sam's voice I started crying. But it wasn't even like regular crying I was shrieking and gasping for air.

"Sam?" I was so relieved to have contact with someone, even if was through the phone line.

"Chris? Chris what's wrong?"

"I swallowed all of it and I don't know what to do?"

"Swallowed all of what?"

"I'm sorry Sam."

"Sorry for what? Chris what's going on?"

I couldn't answer. I'd fallen from the bed down to the floor and the phone had dropped out of my hand.

The last thing I heard was Sam screaming for Dean.

* * *

Once again, I woke to hear the Winchesters talking.

"Come on Sammy," Dean was saying. "We got to him in time."

"We never should have let him go back there," Sam said and he sounded like he was bawling.

I opened my eyes to see him standing a little way off crying into Dean's chest.

"I know," Dean admitted. "Who would have thought that jerk Brandon would have left him alone when he was sick. How the hell could any self-respecting big brother do something like that?"

"I told you he didn't like him."

"Yeah but there's not liking and then there's being a selfish bastard."

Even if I'd wanted to keep eavesdropping my cough had other plans. When the hacking started Sam and Dean turned to look and then came towards me. My head felt foggy but as I looked around I could tell I wasn't at home.

"Where am I?" I asked and I sounded really weird, like when I lost my voice after screaming at a ball game.

"You're at the hospital," Dean said softly. "How're you feeling?"

"Weird," I mumbled, rubbing my eyes.

"Let me get the doctor." Dean released Sam so he could press some buttons above my head. Sam just stood there with his face red and his eyes wet.

Then came the nurses and the doctors checking me over, asking me questions. They told me that my brother would be there soon, I told them I couldn't care less and I meant it. When Brandon arrived and saw me in the hospital bed he turned white as a sheet and started talking real fast like he was frightened.

"What the hell happened?"

"Hey," Dean stepped up to him. "Don't come in here and start anything."

Brandon ignored him and came straight to my bedside.

"They told me you almost ODed on cold medicine. Chris what the hell is going on?"

It was the first in a long while that I had heard him say my name. Most of the time it was brat, moron or worse.

"He tried to kill himself," Sam told Brandon. "He hurt himself because you left him alone when he was sick. What kind of big brother does that?"

Brandon turned on Sam, but rather than being mean he just sounded scared. "Look I didn't ask to be anyone's big brother. My bastard of a father thought it was a good idea to cheat on my Mom and then he arrived."

Dean wasn't buying that.

"So your Dad couldn't keep it zipped," he said. "What the hell does that have to do with Chris or you?"

"Do you know what it's like when a man you've looked up to all your life turns out to be cheat and a liar? Do you know what it's like when a boy can't respect his father?"

"I understand that fathers aren't perfect. And I understand even more that things can get really complicated in families but none of that is Chris' fault."

"You have no idea," Brandon said, and I'd never heard him sound so scared. "This is not my first hospital scene. When Dad went off on his honeymoon with his new wife my mother swallowed a whole bunch of sleeping pills and I was the one that found her. I had to call the doctors and ride with her in the ambulance while Daddy Dearest was in paradise with his hot new wife."

"Look it all sounds really messed up but you can't take it out on Chris. In all of this crap you got a little brother don't you know how lucky you are?"

"He's the lucky one!" Brandon yelled and god help me he looked like he was going to cry. "He always gets what he wants."

"That's not true," I yelled. I just couldn't take anymore. I was sick of all the hate. I was sick of him. "You wanna know what I want, more than anything?"

"What?"

"To have a big brother that loves me as much as Dean loves Sam. But I'm never going to get that and that's fine with me now. I'm sorry about what happened to your Mom. I'm sorry for what Dad did, and if it makes you feel better to hate me then you can just keep right on doing it. I don't care anymore. I don't want you for a big brother. I'm done."

"Come on Chris," Dean turned from Brandon to me. "Take it easy, buddy."

"I'm done Dean," I said loud enough to let them all know I meant it. "Brandon," I looked at my brother. "Get the hell out of my face."

I turned away from all of them and pulled the covers up, trying to shut them all out.

I could hear Brandon arguing and his voice sounded like he was about to lose it, or worse. I heard Dean hustling him out of the room talking about "getting some fresh air" and chilling out "before he busted a gasket".

When the room door slammed, I started bawling. Sam came to my bedside and took my hand.

"It's gonna be OK Chris," he told me.

But that didn't stop my tears; and when words didn't work, Sam leaned over and hugged me tight. I held on to him and cried like a baby.

I'd lost the brother, I never even had.

* * *

Sam was right; everything did work out but not in the way any of us would have expected.

Dad and Mom rushed back from their vacation and he took on the "family crisis" like it was a big business deal or something. There was counselling, therapy and even a big "reconciliation trip" so we could all bond.

Brandon stopped being mean to me but that was about it. He didn't want to us to be close. He didn't really want to be a big brother.

And I was OK with that because it really didn't matter to me anymore. You see soon after Mom came back from Europe, she found out she was pregnant. It was going to be a boy and I was going to have a little brother.

From the day I found out, I loved him even though he was just a bunch of shadows on an ultrasound. I didn't care about Mom or Dad or Brandon, I was going to be there for him all of his life. I was going to hug him when he cried, care for him when he was sick and kiss him and cuddle him even when we were big enough to have kids of our own.

People come into our lives for a reason, and now I know, I met Sam and Dean Winchester not so they could help my big brother to love me but so they could teach me how to be a big brother.

**THE END**

**More to come, please keep reading.**


	17. A Timely Reminder

**I Wish I Was Your Brother**

**A/N: ** I was amazed at the reaction to Chris' story in the last chapter, "Sibling Rivalry". The positive response sent my muse into overdrive and I quickly realised that I had more to say about this character. So this chapter is a follow up to "Sibling Rivalry". If you haven't read that one please do so to get the full context of this story.

**A/N**: I continue to be really encouraged and inspired by all the positive feedback this series receives. I hope you'll all keep reading.

* * *

**- SEVENTEEN -**

**A Timely Reminder**

Never in my wildest dreams did I think I would ever set eyes on Sam Winchester again. So when I found myself face to face with my old childhood friend I felt like a kid who found out that Christmas was gonna come twice in one year. Sam Winchester was one of two people who had left an indelible mark on me when I'd just become a teenager. The other person was his big brother Dean.

If the look of delighted surprise on Sam's face was any indication, he seemed shocked but just as happy to see me.

"Chris?" he asked in disbelief and uncertainly. "Chris Hollingsworth?"

"The one and only," I confirmed, grinning. "Oh my God Sam, this is like some kinda dream."

"A good one or a bad one?" he asked.

"A great one," I answered opening up to hug him.

He stepped forward and grabbed me, slapping my back a few times for good measure.

"How the hell have you been?" I asked.

"I've been OK." he said calmly.

"Obviously you're better than OK, you're here."

Here was at exclusive academic and leadership programme at the prestigious Sherwood University, one of the best schools in the country. Every year, Sherwood had a summer course for the two hundred top performing freshmen from elite universities across the country. The privileged few who were accepted were fondly and grudgingly known as the "Top Two Hundred". And when I remember how brilliant Sam had been when we were kids, it was no surprise he'd made it into the programme.

I had turned up on opening day, thrilled to have been selected but really nervous and unsure about who or what I would encounter. Now, seeing Sam, I just had a gut feeling that this was going to turn out to be a great experience.

"So what have you been up to?" I asked Sam when the two of us went to grab lunch half-way through our day-long course orientation.

"Nothing much," he said guardedly.

This was typical of Sam, he never gave much information. The summer we had been friends, we slept over at one another's homes and we'd met each other's siblings but I was never really clear on stuff like what his Dad did for a living or why Mr. Winchester was never around and Dean seemed to have been doing most of the parenting.

"I really haven't been up to anything out of the ordinary."

"Come on dude," I wasn't buying that. "You're in the Top Two Hundred and you certainly didn't get here by doing nothing, so you're either being modest or secretive."

"Well on that score, I just finished my first year at Stanford. I got in on a full scholarship."

"See that's what I'm talking about," I said giving him a high five.

As a teenager Sam had been one of the few kids who actually liked schoolwork. I'd always appreciated having a friend who didn't think it was nerdy to want to be at the top of the class.

"I bet Dean must have been real proud of you," I said knowingly. "I still remember that time we aced that math test and he took us for pizza. I can just imagine the celebrations when you got into Stanford."

A strange look came over Sam's face, like what I said had caused him deep, physical pain. His eyes clouded over and for a guy who was pushing six, four, he suddenly looked like a lost little boy. The the grimace was quickly replaced by a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"I'll say one thing," he quipped. "There was a lot of excitement when I told my family about Stanford."

"I can just imagine," I said hoping it was a good kind of excitement. From Sam's delivery, I wasn't sure. "And how is Dean anyway?"

This time, Sam bit his lip and closed his eyes painfully again.

"He's O.K. He's on the road a lot and we don't really get to see each other much."

"You're kidding," I couldn't believe it. "You guys were so inseparable."

"We **were**," Sam clarified, his tone implying that was then and this was now. "Stuff happens."

"Stuff like what?" I had to ask. "You guys were the closest brothers, the closest **siblings**, I ever met."

In fact, close didn't even begin to describe the Winchesters. They were devoted.

Sam had idolized his big brother and Dean had dotted on Sam. On the outside, Dean came off as the classic bad boy; part James Dean, part modern-day thug. But when it came to his little brother he'd been as gentle as a mother with a premature new-born. And Sam had revelled in the attention and affection.

I didn't think that anything could have ever come between them and I felt a deep sense of disappointment when I realised that something, or someone had.

"People grow up," Sam said simply. "And people want different things out of life. But tell me how are you doing? Great obviously since you're in the Top Two Hundred too."

I noted the deflection but what could I say? Sam and I hadn't seen each other for more than six years, so I couldn't expect that he'd be rushing to tell me if there was trouble between him and Dean.

"I still love school work." I admitted, a little sheepishly. "I'm right here at Sherwood University."

"You're kidding?"

"Nah. Got in on scholarship as well; although my Dad is always quick to point out that I didn't need it. Can you imagine? I also got accepted to Harvard and Yale but I didn't want to move away from home. So since Sherwood's a top five school, and it's an easy drive from where I live, I decided to just come here. My little brother's only six and I didn't want to leave him."

"Little brother?" Sam asked, and it was the first time he seemed genuinely excited.

"Yeah," I said grabbing my Smartphone and scrolling to the pictures where I had at least a hundred shots of my pride and joy. "The same summer we were in math camp my Mom got pregnant."

I handed the phone over to Sam.

"This is David."

"Good looking kid," Sam complimented, flipping through the shots. "You think you have enough photos of him?"

"I know I get carried away," I shrugged easily. "But I want to capture everything because he changes so much every day. I swear Sam it was like he was in diapers last week; and the next thing I know he's gonna be getting ready to start dating."

"I don't think he'll have any problems with the ladies," Sam commented. "He's gonna be a handsome devil."

"And he's so bright," I threw in for good measure. "And full of personality. I tell you Sam, he's the total package. I know I'm biased, but he's amazing."

"I'll bet," Sam snickered.

Then suddenly, almost abruptly, he handed the phone back to me.

"Thanks for sharing." he said, but his voice had an edge that implied it wasn't exactly a pleasure.

"No problem."

I took the phone and noted the photo that had brought a hasty end to the picture viewing session. It was a candid shot of me and David. My girlfriend had taken it during a movie night the three of us had a few weeks back. As usual, when David got sleepy he crawled into my lap to cuddle. I'd been exhausted that night and I shortly after David fell asleep; I had joined him in dreamland. My girlfriend had snapped us snuggled together on the couch.

Everyone who saw the picture loved it and so I wondered why it seemed to have made Sam uncomfortable. When we had been kids he'd been all over Dean. In fact, among the things I had envied the Winchester brothers for was their total ease with being physically affectionate with one another. Sam had been as clingy as saran wrap when we were younger and Dean had indulged him completely. When I actually witnessed the extent of their love and closeness, it had taken me beyond envy to a deep sense of longing and need. More than that, I'd felt a disturbing sense of dejection about my strained relationship with my own older brother, Brandon.

So when David came into the picture, Sam and Dean had been my role models. It was their loving, nurturing and seemingly unbreakable bond that had given me the resolve to be an affectionate and demonstrative big brother. And I was continually amazed at how much my love and care made David confident and self-assured.

"So how's the rest of your family?" Sam asked, determined to steer the discussion away from him and Dean.

"Everyone's OK, for the most part. Brandon is the same, he mostly ignores me. But at least now when we do talk he's civil. He moved out to go to college and it's like he's hardly looked back. He comes around every now again, but he seems to take us in measured doses. Dad still thinks the key to a great father and son relationship is to buy me stuff and I've accepted that that's his way of communicating. So I have an awesome car, more clothes than I'll ever wear, and a stock portfolio most Fortune 500 CEOs would envy."

"Good for you. It sounds like you have the right perspective."

"I think I do. Plus when David came along it was like everything changed for me. I fell in love the moment I saw him; and he's had me wrapped around his little finger ever since."

"It shows." Sam said kindly.

"Little brothers do something to you. But I shouldn't have to tell you that Dean used to spoil you rotten. I was so jealous of you two guys."

"Yeah," Sam said softly and even a deaf man would have heard the longing in his voice. "Dean was the best big brother ever."

_Was?_

The thought made me cringe.

Somewhere, somehow, something had gone wrong between the Winchester brothers. I felt a physical sense of distress that anything could have separated the two people who were closer than practically any other human beings I'd ever met.

Whatever had happen it was obviously still hurting Sam deeply. But I couldn't help him if he wouldn't open up. And if the way he had been deflecting me so far was anything to go by, whatever had happened between him and Dean was way off limits.

Besides, the truth be told, I was practically a stranger to Sam. The Winchesters may have had a profound impact on my life but to Sam, I was just Chris who he had spent a summer hanging out with. That didn't qualify me to gain entry to the sacred domain that was his relationship with his big brother.

However, sometimes fate has a way of handing us a means of intervention. Mine came when Sam and I joined forces to complete our first course assignment.

The class had been broken down into pairs and it was only natural for Sam and I to team up. The summer we met we'd been at a math boot camp and we'd always studied together. Back then, we were consistently at the top of the class and from the way we approached the leadership programme it was clear that we both felt that even among the very brightest we should still be the best.

We decided to pull an all-nighter like we'd done in the old days, so I invited him to stay over at my house.

On the appointed evening, the two of us were on our laptops, knee-deep in research and note-taking, when my Mom and David had come home. They'd spent the day at Silver Ridge, the country club where my father was a lifetime member. David was enrolled in the Club's summer sports and recreational programme and Mom spent the days golfing, sun-tanning and lunching with her friends. I never did take to the country club crowd but David had been around rich kids all his life and Silver Ridge was like a second home to him.

As soon as he came through the front door, David was calling out for me.

"My little brother's home." I told Sam, shaking my head fondly at the high pitched bellowing. "Brace yourself for the tornado."

We walked out into the foyer which, even after ten years of living in my Dad's oversized house, still reminded me of the entryway of a luxury hotel.

"Hey buddy," I called out.

David bolted in my direction and launched himself at me. Anticipating his landing, I dropped to my knees and opened my arms. I caught him in a bear hug, squeezed him hard and planted a loud kiss on his forehead.

Watching the reunion, my mother rolled her eyes and sighed.

"No one would believe you two saw each other this morning."

"Hey," I shot back at her. "I miss this little twerp when he's not around."

"Clearly the feeling is mutual," Mom smiled. "And to think, I spent hours in labour bringing this kid into the world and the only one he has eyes for is you."

"That's because I bribe him with hugs and kisses," I joked leaning over to plant one on her cheek.

"This is my friend Sam," I told David, who was still nestled in my arms.

"Hey Sam." David turned and tilted his head to look up at him. "You're tall."

"Hey David," Sam smiled warmly. "I heard a lot about you from your big brother."

"Cool," David responded, then turned to me. "I'm starved, can we eat?"

"Sam and I have a lot of work to do so you and Mom go ahead," I advised, setting him back down on his feet. "Go and wash up first."

"O.K." David took off at his usual speed, a hundred miles a minute.

"Mom this is Sam Winchester," I said when the little world wind had blown out of the room. "He's in the Top Two Hundred programme with me."

"Very nice to meet you Sam," Mom held out a delicate, well manicured, hand which Sam shook gently.

She was half his height and pencil thin, something she worked at with unrelenting intensity. "Congratulations on being accepted to the leadership programme; it's quite prestigious."

"It is. I still can't believe I got chosen."

"I bet your parents were really proud of you," Mom went on, totally missing the dark look that ghosted fleetingly over Sam's features. "Chris' father threw a dinner party to celebrate when we heard he got in."

"It was quite the event," I added helpfully. "Brandon turned up with a prostitute."

"Christopher," Mom reprimanded gently. "Please stop saying that about the young lady."

"Mom no girl would dress like that in public unless it was a professional requirement."

"The outfit was not exactly appropriate but I would prefer you didn't refer to your brother's friends in such an unflattering way."

"But if the shoe fits?"

"Christopher."

"O.K," I held up my hands in concession. "I'm sorry."

"Sure you are," Mom pinched my chin fondly. "Anyway," she changed gears, "let me feed the little prince and leave you two to your work. Sam it was very nice meeting you. I hope you do well in the programme."

"Nice meeting you too Mrs. Hollingsworth," Sam said politely.

When we were safely back at our laptops Sam grinned at me conspiratorially.

"I'm trying to imagine what Brandon's date must have been wearing."

"Don't. You don't want those images in your head dude."

Laughing, Sam shook his head. "I guess some things haven't changed."

No doubt he was recalling that fateful summer when he'd seen Brandon in action. I can still remember my brother's girlfriend of the moment who'd seemed to have a curious allergy to clothes. On more than one occasion Sam and I had been left red-faced by her skimpy attire.

"Some things never will," I matched Sam's grin.

Once we settled back down to work, Sam and I put in a solid stretch. He was a whiz at research, with an uncanny knack for quickly sifting through piles of information and getting to the pertinent facts. We were busy sorting through stuff when we heard a loud crash in the kitchen followed by even louder howling.

In a second I was on my feet and running to the scene of the trouble, knowing instantly that David had hurt himself. When I burst into the kitchen I found him on the floor beside an overturned stool. He'd obviously been trying to get something from one of the top cupboards and had taken a fall.

I crouched down beside him, pulled him to my chest and held on tight.

"I got you," I whispered. "It's OK buddy, I'm right here."

Sam, who had followed me into the kitchen, gave me a few minutes to calm David down and then he intervened.

"Let me check him over," he offered, unperturbed by the crying.

Reluctantly, I released my little brother and watched as Sam examined him with a swiftness that had me wondering if he should be in Pre-med. He patted him down, applied pressure in a few place, asked a few questions and then pronounced that all was well.

"He's probably just shaken up," he said. "He didn't fall too far. Nothing is strained or broken."

David was still sobbing a little so I pulled him back to me, rubbed his head and softly told him he would be alright.

"What's going on?" Mom asked hurrying into the kitchen.

She looked like she'd just jumped out of the shower. Her hair was dripping wet, and she was in her fluffy bathrobe.

"Nothing much," I reassured her. I knew from experience, if I didn't make a big deal about an incident, David would usually hush up faster. "Our little Superman had a fall but he'll be O.K."

"Did you fall off the stool David?" Mom came towards us and knelt down.

Sniffing, David nodded.

"What were you doing up there?"

"Opening the cupboards," David admitted.

"Why?" Mom pressed.

"Because Aurora hides the candy on the top shelf," I answered.

"Snitch," David sobbed.

"David, I keep telling you, if sweets were good for you they'd have them on the dinner table every night right beside the vegetables."

"Your brother's right," Mom corroborated.

When David looked like he was going to start crying again I intervened quickly. I recognised the signs immediately and knew he was more tired than anything else.

"Alright champ," I rubbed his back. "I think it's time you get to bed."

I stood up and gently put him down beside me.

"Good idea," Mom took his hand. "Let's go upstairs and I'll tuck you in."

When my little brother shot a longing look in my direction, I leaned over and kissed the top of his head.

"I'll do bedtime duty tomorrow," I promised gently. "Tonight Sam and I still have a lot of stuff to get done."

"O.K," David conceded. "Can we have a sleepover?"

How could I refuse when that adorable little face was looking up at me hopefully with eyes still a little moist from crying.

"Sure," I ruffled his hair. "But if you steal the covers again, I'm gonna pour cold water on you in your sleep."

"No you won't," David perked up and grinned. "You always say that and you never do it."

"You mean I haven't done it yet. Don't tempt me."

"O.K." Mom stepped in before the little exchange could escalate. "Time for bed your majesty; say goodnight."

"Good night Sam," David said politely. "Night Chris."

"Night buddy."

I watched him head off but once he got to the door he turned around like he'd forgot something.

"Love you," he said, unconcerned about the fact that we had an audience that included a relative stranger.

It was always a thrill to see how my little brother expressed love without any inhibitions. I planned to do everything in my power to make sure that didn't change as he got older.

"I love you more," I replied.

I was rewarded with a huge smile just before he walked away with Mom.

"O.K.," I turned to Sam. "Crisis over."

This time, Sam couldn't mask his emotions. His face was red and his eyes were stormy with grief.

"Sam?"

"I need a minute," he raised his hand to cut me off. "I gotta be by myself right now."

He left the kitchen through the back french doors that led to our pool deck and recreational area. I headed in the opposite direction, through the house and into my father's den. I stopped at what Dad fondly called his gentleman's bar, poured two glasses of his best scotch and grabbed the bottle for good measure. Armed with the liquor, I met Sam out by the pool.

He was sitting cross-legged on the ground with his face in his hands. I sat down beside him.

"You look like you could use this," I held the small, fat, tumbler out to him.

"You know we're not legal," he said, but he took the glass anyway.

"So call the cops," I chided.

Instead Sam opted to throw back the shot. I followed suit.

I wasn't exactly sure how to broach the conversation, but I knew if he didn't talk about whatever it was that had driven the rift between him and Dean he was going to explode.

In the end, it was Sam who got things started.

"You're a great big brother," he said wistfully.

"Thanks."

It might sound silly, but hearing that from Sam Winchester was an honour.

"I had an incredible role model," I told him.

"Who?" Sam quizzed, a little apprehensively. "Brandon?"

"No!" It would have made more sense for him to say the sky was red. "Dean."

Wincing, Sam held out his glass.

"You wanna hit me up again?"

I topped us both up and the second round was sipped in silent contemplation. I looked at the large, deep pool in front of us and decided that, metaphorically, I may as well dive in.

"Families are complicated at best and totally messed up at worst," I reasoned. "I never got the back-story on you and Dean, and quite frankly, I don't need to. But when I think about two kids, still teenagers, on their own most of the time, I figure it's a pretty complicated situation."

"It was and still is," Sam admitted.

"I'm sure. But I also remember what you and Dean were like when we were kids. I used to be amazed at how he was with you. Sometimes he came off like a mother, other times he was more like a dad but it was always so obvious he was your best friend."

"He was all of that and more."

"I was so jealous. I so wished I'd had that; but after my whole hospital episode, I accepted that it was never gonna happen between me and Brandon. But when David came along, I knew exactly what I had to be for him because I thought about you."

"Me?"

"Yeah. You know my family saga. Brandon hates everybody, Dad would rather buy us stuff than spend time with us, Mom's obsessed with transforming from "the other woman" to the wife, and I just wanted to protect David from all the crap I've had to deal with."

"That's a pretty tall order."

"Yeah, it is and that's why I thought about you. You were a kid living in what seemed like a precarious situation and yet you were always so secure and that's because you had Dean. And I wanted to be everything for David that he was for you. You guys made me realise that a big brother's love can make a hell of difference. Admit it, no matter what else was going on around you, Dean always made you feel loved and safe."

"He did," Sam whispered, his voice trembling. "He always did."

"Then what could have come between you two?"

"Like I said Chris, people grow up and want different things out of life."

"Sam, you have a remarkable knack for responding to a question and not providing an answer. I hope you're considering law as a future career."

"You want the truth? Dean and I haven't spoken since I got into Stanford."

"You mean for a whole year?"

"Yes. My father and I had some very different ideas about what I should do with my life. Dean sided with Dad."

"Look, I know people change; but the Dean I knew always wanted what was best for you. If he took your Dad's side in all of this he probably had a good reason."

"What was best for me was to get away. That was the only way I could finally get to live my life on my terms and not keep doing what they wanted."

"And Dean stopped speaking to you because of that?"

"No. It was more like I stopped speaking to him."

I swallowed hard, trying to process these revelations. Two people who seemed incapable of living without each other hadn't so much as spoken in over a year. If Sam's emotional edginess was any indication, he wasn't weathering the separation too well.

Six years ago, the Winchesters, with their unique brand of love and devotion to each other had shown me that as much as life may suck, a brother's love can make all the difference. Back when we were thirteen, Sam was the one who'd had that and I'd been the one looking on, wishing, wanting and longing.

Now, the tables had turned and I owed it to him to remind him of what he had in his relationship with Dean.

I owed it to both of them.

"You know," I began, making every effort to keep my tone light. "You're not the first person to tell me that I'm a great big brother."

"That's not surprising. You're really good with David."

"Yeah, people tell me that all the time. But what they don't realise is how good he is with me. People see what I give to him but they have no way of knowing how much he gives back. When he comes to me for help, or when he turns to me because he's hurt or scared and I'm the only the one who can make him feel better, I can't tell you how good that makes me feel."

"I can imagine."

"Can you really though?" I had to ask. "Can you really understand what it means to be a big brother? Do you know what it's like to have someone that needs you and depends on you and who matters more to you than even your own life? Can you understand what it's like when you realise that although you're the protector and the caregiver you probably need your little brother more than he needs you?"

I knew my words were hitting home when Sam looked away and hastily wiped his eyes.

"Sam, speaking as a big brother, I understand that one day, David might want to go his own way. But if he didn't speak to me for a year it would break my heart. And I don't care if it makes **me** sound like a wimp, I'd be devastated if my little brother walked out of my life."

"If that should ever happen, don't think for one minute that it would be easy for him. When you've depended on someone for your entire life and then you suddenly have to do without them you feel completely lost. When David had that accident today and I was watching the two of you, I thought I was gonna lose it. Seeing you guys together like that brought back so many memories of me and Dean when we were growing up. He must have held me and comforted me through a million and one hurts and now any time anything bad happens I still wanna run to my big brother. And quite frankly, I don't care if that makes **me** sound like a wimp."

"So what's the solution then? Does living your own life mean there's no room in it for your big brother?"

"There will always room in my life for Dean. I just don't know if he'll want to be close to me again after I walked out on him."

"Sam, I can't speak for Dean. But if David hadn't spoken to me for year and he called wanting to talk, I'd drop everything and make time for him."

"You would?"

"Absolutely."

Then, I was honour-bound to add. "Now of course, I'd probably punch his lights out when I saw him, but after that, I'd give him the longest, tightest hug I'd ever given him in his life."

Sam exhaled loudly and closed his eyes.

"David's a lucky boy," he said. "In fact, I think he's got the second best big brother in the world."

I had to laugh.

"Well, if you think you've got a better big brother than me, I think it's only fair that he should know that."

"Can I tell you, it's been hard watching you and David. It's been like this glaring reminder of everything I've lost."

"Look, I don't know all of what went down between you and Dean, but I don't believe for one moment that you've lost your brother Sam. A love like that can never really die."

There was a lengthy silence while Sam appeared to mull over what I had said. When he did speak again, he sounded resolute and determined.

"Do you think we can finish up the assignment in the morning? I have a phone call to make and I have a feeling it's gonna be a pretty long conversation."

I bit my lip as my eyes filled and my stomach felt a little awkward.

"No problem," I tried for a casual tone but I don't think I succeeded. "We've broken the back of it anyway and we're way ahead of the deadline."

I got up and took up our glasses and the bottle of scotch.

"I better get rid of the evidence of our little indulgence," I snickered.

"Yeah, you do that," Sam advised, reaching into his shirt pocket and pulling out his cell phone.

"I'm gonna head up to my room and watch some TV," I told him as I walked towards the back entrance to the kitchen. "Come up when you've finish your phone call."

"Chris," Sam called out, just as I was about to step through the french doors. "Thanks."

"No problem," I shrugged easily.

"No I mean it," Sam said earnestly. "Thanks for listening to me and thanks for letting me spill my guts. But most of all, I really want to thank you for reminding me that in spite of everything, I really do have the best big brother in the world."

"You do, Sam Winchester. And don't you ever forget it."

**THE END**

**There's a lot more to come so please keep reading.**

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**A/N: **I know everyone has thoughts and opinions about Supernatural fics; so I'd love to hear what you thought about this one.


	18. Best Interests

**I Wish I Was Your Brother**

**A/N: **If the character of Kylie Mayne seems familiar, you would have encountered her if you read my fic, "What Never Will Be." I didn't want to spoil it for anyone who hadn't read that story so the main subject matter dealt with in that fic is not mentioned in this one.

**A/N: **This is set in early Season 2, after 2:02, Everybody Loves A Clown.

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**- EIGHTEEN -**

**Best Interests **

OK, so can we please get one thing straight, I did not try to "come between" Sam and Dean Winchester. Apparently, no one can do that.

Sam was my friend and I merely intervened in a situation that I saw as detrimental to him. He'd lost his way since Jessica died and he left Stanford; and I was simply trying to get him back on the right track. That meant getting him away from his brother.

As you can well imagine, my goodwill mission was an unqualified disaster. But before you all get ready to skin me alive, let me recite the course of disturbing events that led me to conclude that I had to separate Sam from Dean.

It had been a year since Jessica died and to honour her memory I decided to have a memorial to mark the anniversary. Any tribute to Jess would have been incomplete without Sam. So although it took all my powers of persuasion, I managed to convince him to come back to California for the service.

The minute I set eyes on Sam, I knew that some kind of intervention was an absolute necessity. The Sam I had known at Stanford and the Sam that I saw one year later were two completely different people.

At college Sam had been on a fast track to professional success and a prosperous life. He and I were LSAT study partners and not only had he aced that test, he was top of our pre-law class as we headed towards our college graduation. He and I had applied to the same law schools and I had really hoped we would have ended up together to continue our academic partnership at the postgraduate level.

Then, out of nowhere, came the fire and we lost Jess. After that, Sam dropped out of school and I hardly heard from him. I had only seen him once since he left Palo Alto and I won't even go into the details of that encounter. But the fact is, I had no clue what had been occupying his time since he left college.

When I finally saw him again, Sam looked and sounded so different it was unbelievable. He had always been in good shape but now his body was a dense mass of hard, lean, muscle. His features had sharpened, leaving him with a stern, chiselled look that telegraphed danger. However it was his manner that had changed the most. He moved from being laid back and completely easygoing to taking on the same haunted, desperate look I'd seen in Dean's eyes when he had blown into town a year earlier and whisked Sam away. Now, Sam seemed to view everything and everyone – except Dean – with deep suspicion.

To be absolutely frank, I hardly knew Dean. But my original impression of him had been decidedly unfavourable. He'd appeared suddenly and the next thing I knew was Sam had disappeared with him for a weekend. He'd given Jessica some story about going with Dean to find his Dad but Jessica hadn't bought it entirely. As soon as Sam and Dean had taken off she had come to my place and unloaded all her fears about Sam and his family. Sam had been unbelievably secretive about his past and Jessica was scared about what he may have been hiding.

Jessica's questions were never answered because she died before she even had a chance to talk to Sam about any of these issues. I can still remember standing outside the smouldering remains of the apartment she had shared with Sam, watching the Winchesters. Sam was taller and bigger but Dean seemed to hover like some kind of fraternal Svengali who had come to reclaim his own.

Even with his obscure background and without the backing of wealth and class, Sam had been a leader at Stanford. However, I saw a different side of him once his older sibling was around. It had been shocking to watch Sam transform into Dean's little brother; reliant and needy like a child with a parent. Dean seemed to have such a powerful hold on him, that I actually wasn't completely surprised when Sam said he was dropping out of school to go "on the road" with his brother. Very soon after I observed the dynamics between them, I had sensed we would lose Sam to Dean's hypnotic pull.

My mother had always said never make any life changing decisions too soon after death and divorce, so I'd tried to intervene when Sam broke the news that he wasn't going to law school. I had tried, in vain, to convince him not to give up on his education and career but nonetheless, he went with Dean. They left Palo Alto right after the funeral and damn if I hadn't seen a triumphant look on Dean's face when that Impala pulled away.

At that time, the only thing that had given me hope was that maybe, being "on the road"; going nowhere with Dean, would bring Sam to his senses. I hoped he would see that he had given up his shot at everything, for nothing.

No such luck.

While there did seem to be some amount of tension between them, like they were in the middle of an unresolved dispute, there was no mistaking their closeness and complete familiarity. They moved in unison with each always ensuring the other was in eyeshot or close proximity. They spoke a language known only to them; having entire conversations with just their eyes and facial expressions. They looked like they were part of some secret society, a dark clique with a membership of two, that no one else was permitted to join.

I sensed Sam had been completely reabsorbed into whatever world he had left behind when he came to Stanford and put space between himself and his family. And that was when I realised if I didn't do something, and do it fast, Sam was going to end up like his brother. And I don't care if you want to think I'm a heartless witch, for someone with Sam's enormous promise, that would have been a tragedy of Shakespearian proportions.

So I knew what I had to do and there was no sense in putting it off.

When the memorial service was finished, I hosted a late evening reception in my parents back gardens. I spent the first part of the function walking purposefully around, ensuring that my guests were comfortable. My mother always told me, no matter how sombre an occasion, a gathering should be well planned and flawlessly executed. The gardens were immaculately decorated with the gazebos and plants draped with lace and sheer white fabric. The lawn was adorned with white wicker furniture; the tables were covered with white cloths and accentuated by the lovely floral arrangements that served as centrepieces. I'd already received numerous compliments both about the decor and my own appearance.

Naturally as the hostess, I had to ensure that I stood out, without looking like I was seeking to draw an excessive amount of attention to myself. For Jessica's funeral last year I had been too distraught to give much consideration to my wardrobe choice but luckily my mother had stepped in to take up the slack. On that occasion I had worn Chanel, all black with muted accessories and conservative pumps. This time around, I saw no need for mournful colours and opted for an off-white, short-sleeve, shift from Michael Kors. The fitted bodice, showed off my flat stomach while accentuating what, thanks to a twenty-first birthday present from my mother, was no longer my flat chest. Open-toe, platform, Prada pumps completed the look while showcasing my pedicure.

As soon as I was satisfied that things were running smoothly, I took Sam aside and spoke to him. I literally had to drag him away from Dean as the two of them had been shoulder to shoulder throughout the service and had not separated since coming to the reception. When I caught up with Sam he and Dean were talking to my father and it was the most relaxed I'd seen either of them since they'd arrived for the service.

I managed to get Sam's attention and escorted him across the gardens and back into the house where we could speak privately. I took him to our entertainment suite, a sprawling dining and sitting area where my parents often hosted dinner parties and banquets. It was a luxurious and intimidating setting that provided the perfect backdrop for the conversation we were about to have.

I led Sam over to one of the huge leather sofas, sat down and gestured for him to sit beside me.

"I want to thank you again for coming," I said graciously. "I know everyone's happy to see you."

"You really pulled out all the stops," he commented. "The whole gang is here."

"We've all missed you a lot Sam and we've been wondering what you've been up to. You haven't really been in touch with anyone since you left school and sometimes it feels like you dropped off the planet."

"I've been with my brother Kylie. You know that."

"I know you're with Dean but what I don't know is what exactly that entails."

"We had some family stuff that we had to take care of and it's taken us awhile."

"And is everything settled now?"

"Not really."

"So what's next?"

"Dean and I have things we need to get done."

"Things like what?"

"That's really between me and him, Kylie."

"What is it with you two? Since the day he turned up here it's been like you guys have all these secrets that no one else can get in on. You've been running all over the place with him and where is it getting you?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"You're right about that. I don't get why someone with your talent and potential would want to settle for what you have now. Sam when you left Stanford, you didn't just drop out of school, you dropped out of life. And I think it's time you got back into it."

"I didn't drop out of life. I needed some time to think things through."

"It's been a year Sam."

"I know that," his voice hitched, telegraphing mounting irritation. "I've had a lot dealing with and Dean's been a big help. Now he's the one who needs help and I'm gonna be there for him."

"And what exactly does he need your help with?"

"Kylie we just lost our Dad, O.K."

"What? How?"

"We had a really bad accident, I was driving. Dean ended up in coma and my Dad died."

"Sam," I stepped towards him and opened my arms. "I'm so sorry."

I moved to embrace him but his body was stiff as board against mine. The situation was so awkward that I just gave him a quick squeeze and moved away.

"When did it happen?"

"Not too long ago. But Dean was always closer to him and he's taking it a lot worse than me."

"From where I'm standing he looks the same, it's you I'm concerned about."

"I'm O.K., believe me. But I've gotta be there for him."

"Yes, but for how long Sam? You can't keep putting your life on hold to deal with these issues. You've got to take it as it comes and keep on moving."

"Believe me, that's what I'm doing."

"No you're not," I had to insist. "I look at you and all I see is an excess of potential going to waste."

"I appreciate your concern but I can take care of myself. Are we done here?"

"No."

"Then what?"

"I have a proposition for you."

"What might that be?"

"My father was very distressed to hear that you weren't going to law school. He was always convinced that you were going places."

"I appreciate the endorsement."

"I know for a fact that he would give anything to have you come and work at out firm."

"Kylie I was just talking to your Dad and he was more interested in some of the places Dean and I have been visiting on our road trips. He didn't even mention Law."

"Well, I'm mentioning it. Think about it Sam, most law students would kill to even clean the windows at a firm like Mayne and Stanley."

"I'm flattered you would think of me, but law school isn't really in the cards now."

"So what is?"

"I'd rather not discuss that with you."

"It's money isn't it? Sam we can work something out. I know the firm would gladly give you some kind of scholarship in return for a bond. All you'd have to do is agree to work there when you graduate and they'll cover everything."

"And why exactly would one of the biggest firms in the state just up and pay my tuition?"

"Because Daddy doesn't say no to me, especially when I have a great idea. It will be perfect Sam. I know undergrad was tough for you because you were a scholarship student but we can work out a generous offer so you wouldn't have to worry about where the next meal is coming from."

The more I described it the better it all sounded. I knew I could get Daddy to go for it. He always gave me whatever I wanted and it was true that he'd always been impressed with Sam.

Excited at the prospects, I got to my feet and clapped me hands together.

"You'll have to sign a contract of course, but you could do so much worse than Mayne and Stanley for your first job. And you and I would be working together, just like old times. Sam this is a win, win situation."

"Kylie, have you been listening to me at all? I'm not going to law school, not now. I have more important things to think about."

"More important things like what?" Now I was really starting to get annoyed. "Sam, my father didn't start out with much more than you have now and look at what he's built. He took a job as a copy boy in a lawyer's office to put himself through college. When he finished school, he worked for next to nothing just to get through the doors of a top law firm. But he's come this far because he had drive and ambition; you know, things you used to have until your brother turned up and dragged you off the radar."

"Kylie I think it would be best for both of us if we ended the conversation now."

"Don't take this lightly Sam. I'm offering you a chance to step into a world you've only been able to dream about, I can help you to get everything you wanted when you first came to Stanford."

"I don't want those things anymore Kylie."

"Sam?"

"Leave it alone. I mean it."

He stood and walked out of the room, leaving me in enraged disbelief. Sam had obviously lost his mind and totally screwed up his priorities in the process.

Somehow I suspected it had more to do with his wayward brother's influence than his indecision about his own ambitions. Sam had been clear on what he wanted for his life before Dean reappeared.

And speaking of the devil, I looked out of banquet room window and saw where Dean was still in deep conversation with my father. I seriously wondered what Dad could be discussing with someone like that. I saw Sam approaching them, walking with agitated steps like he hadn't cooled off yet.

When Dean saw him he looked concerned and seemed to be inquiring what had his little brother so annoyed. Sam shrugged it off; I guess he didn't want to recount our conversation in front of my father. Come to think of it, he probably wouldn't even tell Dean about my offer. I'm sure even a degenerate like Dean could well have appreciated what Sam was giving up to stay on their never-ending road trip.

That's when I had my solution.

Perhaps I had made my offer to the wrong brother.

Sam couldn't see what was best for him but maybe Dean could. In fact, if Dean had any sense, he would realise that my proposal was great opportunity for Sam. Hell, he'd probably be happy to have a brother who was on a fast track to becoming a wealthy attorney because then he could sponge off him for the rest of his apparently useless life.

Now while I was acutely aware that the possibility of a freeloading older brother could present a whole other set problems of problems for Sam, protecting him from Dean's bloodsucking would have to come later. First, I had to protect Sam from himself.

So although you may not want to believe it, it was actually my concern for Sam that led me to approach Dean. I knew it would have been a hard conversation but even I was surprised when it escalated into such a blazing confrontation.

Pulling Dean away from Sam, without being obvious was a little tricky, but I was equal to the task. For this mission, I enlisted the help of my ex-boyfriend Phil. I had broken up with him shortly after I started law school because not only were we going in different directions we were moving at contrasting speeds. Phil was doing his MBA as part of the preparation for eventually taking over his family's small chain of exclusive seaside resorts. Phil had always adored me and was a great support while I dealt with the overwhelming pain of losing Jess. However, having everything handed to him all his life left him lacking the edginess and passion I realised I wanted in a man. There was no mystery to Phil, no secrets behind his eyes and absolutely no fire in his blood. The moment he started to drop hints about marriage I knew I had to break it off.

At events like this he had an annoying habit of hovering nearby and stealing hopeful glances in my direction. It was pathetic at best, but on this occasion I intended to put his willingness to please me to good use.

"You're looking great Kylie," he said giving me a hungry once-over. "And you've outdone yourself with this reception."

"Thanks."

"It's just the right mix of solace and festivity. You always know how to pull these things off."

"Everyone seems comfortable which was my main objective."

"Nobody does it like you," Phil raised his glass which seemed to have a healthy serving of Jack Daniels.

That was another thing that annoyed me about him. Ever since our break up he had taken to drinking at social functions and had a tendency to babble on with excessive compliments as if that would pull me back in his direction.

Not a chance.

And this evening in particular, I couldn't waste a single second listening to his misguided ravings, so I cut him off before he drove me up the wall.

"Have you seen Sam?"

"Winchester? Yeah he's with his brother. They're over by the cocktail bar, talking to your Dad."

"Did you get a chance to speak with him yet?"

"No. Not much beyond pleasantries. Why are you so concerned about Sam? Ever since you told me you were having this memorial, he's all you can talk about. Was this whole thing for Jessica or for him?"

"Phil, I'm surprised at you. Sam is our friend, you should be glad to see him."

"Obviously I'm not as glad as you. What is it with you and Winchester?"

Oh good Lord, Phil was going to start acting up now and then he'd be of no use to me. A change of tactic was necessary so I made my eyes sad and ensured that my face reflected feminine vulnerability.

"What are you getting at Phil?" I asked, using a soft, hurt tone. "Sam was my best friend's boyfriend and your friend too. Sometimes I feel like when we lost Jess, we lost him as well and I don't want to say goodbye to any more of my friends, literally or figuratively."

"Hey," Phil gentled his voice instantly. "I'm sorry babe, don't get upset."

"Just look at him," I continued, seeing I was making good progress. "He seems so different now. I've tried talking to him and it hasn't helped, maybe you can get him to open up about what's been going on with him."

"You think so?" Phil seemed doubtful; but the sight of me looking needy and dependent could generally compel him to grant me anything I desired.

"Yes. Just take him away from his brother for a bit, maybe get him a drink and talk about how well your MBA programme is going and all your plans for the future."

"I'll give it a try."

"Thanks."

"And babe, can we maybe spend some time later on, after everyone's gone?"

The hope in Phil's eyes was beyond pitiful.

"We'll see."

I hurried away to mingle with guests in close proximity to Dean so I could be ready to strike when Phil ushered Sam away. As soon as Dean was on his own with Daddy, I bore down on them and managed to get him away. I took him back up to the entertainment suite to launch plan B.

I was pleased to see that he was visibly uncomfortable in the lush surroundings. When I offered him a seat, he refused it, so I stood and faced him.

"I know it might not be my place to say this Dean, but I think you need to talk to Sam."

"About what?" Dean asked, his eyes sharp with scepticism and suspicion.

"Dean, I'm not sure how to say this, but I spoke with him earlier and he confided that he wants to go to law school and finish his education but he doesn't want to leave you because you're having a hard time dealing with your father's death. My condolences by the way."

"Thanks. But what exactly are you saying about Sam."

"He said that during the year he'd been away, he really missed school and all his friends here. I think he really wants to come back to Palo Alto and go to law school, but he doesn't know how to break the news to you."

"So you decided to do it for him?"

"Like I said, I know this might not be my place, but Sam seems so torn that I felt that, as his friend, I had to say something."

"Well, you've said it."

Dean turned to go, apparently dismissing me.

"Dean," I called after him, trying to keep the irritation I was feeling from registering in my voice. "I'm serious about what I said. I think you should talk to Sam."

"I really don't need you to tell me how I should deal with my brother."

"Well somebody has to," I insisted as my patience wore thin. "Sam was one of the brightest students in our group at Stanford. There was no doubt in my mind he was going to breeze through law school and land a job at a top firm. And now he's ready to give all of that up because of family loyalties."

"If you really knew Sam you'd know that no one makes up his mind for him."

"No one but you. Which is why you have to do what's best for him and let him go."

"Where the hell do you get off talking to me about my brother?"

"Someone has to because someone has to help Sam regain his focus on his future. You may not know it, but my father's law firm is one of the best in the California. We'll give Sam a scholarship for law school. We'll cover all his tuition and all his other expenses, but he has to agree to work for us after he graduates."

"If you're serious about your offer you should put it Sam and not me."

"I did. And he wants to jump at it, but he feels guilty about leaving you so soon after your father's death. Dean, I think you need to do the right thing; I think you should tell him to take the scholarship and finish his schooling. He'll do it, if you insist on it."

"And why exactly is this so important to you? Sam's your dead best friend's boyfriend, why are you so desperate to dictate his future?"

I really hadn't anticipated a question like that, but as a law student I was learning to think on my feet.

"Sam wasn't just Jessica's friend, he's my friend too. I only want what's best for him."

"Oh," Dean dragged out the word, indicating sudden realisation. "I think I understand what's happening here. You've got the hots for my little brother."

My face flushed and was no doubt red hot like fire, but I kept my cool. Dean may have looked like a gangster but he did seem to have an uncanny sixth sense.

"You may not understand anything about honour and integrity," I pointed out. "But Jessica was my best friend."

"Yes, and one year is a respectable period of mourning. So what's the plan, you and Sam getting close over shared memories? Or are you planning to try bond with him over your mutual love of the law?"

"Don't be ridiculous. Sam is my friend."

"Look honey, I may not have gotten into Stanford but I know a lot about how people think and I've got you all figured out. This isn't about Sam, this is about you."

"Me?"

"Yes. I've been watching women go after Sammy since he was thirteen. Some of them come at him directly, some sneak up sideways, but I can spot them a mile away. And you want him so bad you're willing to pay with your Daddy's law firm money."

"No, I want what's best for him, which is more than I can say for you."

"Excuse me?"

"The Sam Winchester I knew had an incredible future ahead of him. He was going to be a brilliant lawyer and who knows what else. You know what my father said about Sam, he said he looked at him and thought about himself at that age only Sam was ten times brighter. Look at what my father has today," I gestured around the imposing room and pointed to expansive gardens below the grand balcony. "This is the future Sam could have."

"And I suppose you're part of the package too. Personally, that alone would make me pass up the offer."

"Well you won't get that chance because you'll never have an offer like this. I had you summed up from the day you arrived here to try to take Sam away. You're just one grade above being a bum Dean. You'll never have much more than the clothes on your back and that car you seem to worship and adore; and you're determined that Sam won't have more than that either. You came here and saw Sam's life and you didn't stop until you dragged him away from it. If you hadn't shown up he would be in law school now and well on his way to a successful career and life. You're the worst thing that ever could have happened. Don't condemn him to your sorry excuse for a life Dean. He deserves so much more."

"This speech would be a whole lot more convincing if you were more than a hot-blooded brat who's probably made her way through all the guys in the silver spoon cohort and now sees my little brother as her latest conquest."

"So you think that's the truth about me and here's the truth about you. You get around people like me and Sam's other friends from Stanford and it kills you because you know you'll never fit in here. You look at a place like this and you know it's something you'll never have but don't stop Sam from getting it. He can have it all Dean. Don't stand is his way because your jealous."

"I'll be damned if I have to prove to anyone that I want the best for my brother, least of all you."

"If you really want what's best for him convince me. Help him to get his life back on track."

"Well if on track means being an intellectual stud for a spoiled brat like you I'm gonna make certain he jumps way off the rails."

Where did this hoodlum get off speaking down to me? Sam may have been bright, good looking and full of potential for social development but he was still a penniless scholarship student who had been lucky to have made friends with people like me. And Dean was in an even worse position because he had neither the intellect nor the impetus to rise above his trailer park origins. He should have been thrilled that a family like mine was taking an interest in Sam and instead of showing eternal gratitude he had the damned nerve to stand there, in my house, and insult me to my face.

I wasn't having it.

Before I knew it my hand was swinging for Dean's face. Yes, I was going to knock the tar out of him and can you blame me when you consider what he'd said?

I suppose I should have known better than to initiate a physical fight with a man who was twice my height, three times my weight and built like a Delta Force recruit.

Needless to say, it didn't go well. My hand was just about to make contact with his face when he caught it and wrenched it hard.

"You don't wanna try that sweetheart," he warned, and I suddenly felt very afraid.

"You're a selfish bastard, you know that," I spat, determined that he wouldn't see me flinch.

"Honey, I'm that and more. And you'd better be grateful that I don't show you exactly what I'm capable of here and now. If I gave you even half of what you deserve, I think your trust fund crew would find it quite disturbing and you wouldn't enjoy it one bit."

I suddenly had the disconcerting feeling that I was staring into the face of a man who was capable of killing me with his bare hands. I considered myself lucky when he shoved my hand away and stormed out of the room, slamming the huge oak study door behind him.

I dropped down on the nearby chair, breathing hard and trying to steady myself. It took me several minutes to regain my composure, but when I did I seriously considering storming downstairs and ordering our butler to toss Dean out on his rear end.

The only thing that saved him was the fact that I figured it wouldn't go over well with Sam. However, I wasn't prepared to be insulted like that in my own home. So Sam's big brother or not, Dean would have to leave.

I hope he did make a scene when I told him to go. Then maybe Sam could see the difference between the life he could have and the life he was settling for with his ill-tempered, un-ambitious brother.

Then, it seemed like the gods were smiling on me because I heard raised voices just below the balcony. I stepped out on the porch to see Dean and Sam squabbling in full view of all my guests.

"I've had about as much of this as I can stomach," Dean yelled. "I'm taking off."

"What's gotten into you?" Sam seemed puzzled by his brother's agitation.

"Too much goddamn rich people for one day Sam. I'm outta here."

I couldn't believe the arrogance and impudence of Dean Winchester. How could he insult Sam's friends like that? He was making a scene at a sacred event being held to honour the memory of Sam's girlfriend and because he obviously felt outclassed and intimidated by people who were his social superiors he was embarrassing his brother. If this didn't make Sam see that he needed to extricate himself from his past and his family, nothing would.

I got the shock of my life when Sam took off after a fast retreating Dean.

"Wait," he said sounding like a little boy whose mother was about to leave him at the mall. "Dean, please, hold on."

I came in from the balcony, determined to get to Sam before he chased Dean down. He needed to see the reality that was staring him dead in the face; if he wanted any kind of progressive future he had to cut ties with his past.

Five inch heels really didn't facilitate fast movement and by the time I got downstairs Sam had caught up to Dean, stopping him in mid stride just outside my front door.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" he demanded.

Dean turned and unleashed his fury.

"Is this what you wanted?" Dean asked gesturing towards the side lawn where my guests were no doubt whispering about their little display.

"What are you talking about?"

"Did you want a life like this? With parties on well-kept lawns and friends who live in homes bigger than most of the motels we've crashed in?"

"Where is this coming from Dean?"

"I asked you a question, is this what you want?"

"I'm not answering that until you calm down and tell me what's going on."

"Is everything OK here Sam?"

The question came from my father, who seemed concerned, but not too perturbed, that the argument between the boys might escalate.

My mother had always told me that well bred people never quarrelled in public. If you were so unfortunate as to be caught in the middle of an argument, then you tried to smooth things over as best as possible to preserve your dignity. Every member of my family had mastered the skill of abruptly pausing and flashing reassuring smile in the event you got caught in the midst of a dispute.

The Winchesters, however, had no such experience; so it didn't occur to either of them to try to save face under the circumstances.

"I'm sorry Mr. Mayne," Sam said not taking his eyes off Dean. "But my brother and I are having a difference of opinion."

"Well maybe you two might want to just step into my wife's Chinese rose garden over there. Then you can get some space from the tiresome party crowd and settle your dispute in peace."

Sometimes, I couldn't believe my father. Instead of throwing Dean out for causing a disturbance in front of my guests, he was shrugging the whole thing off and giving them a private place to fight. Where was my mother when I needed her? She was so much better at cutting people down. Daddy had a tendency to hit the ball out to the left field when I could least afford it.

"I'll leave you boys to it," he said, heading back to the gathering.

"You're not leaving here until we talk," Sam hissed, practically hauling Dean into the side garden.

I followed them to the arbour, treading softly so my heels wouldn't alert them to the fact that they were being followed. I knew the rose garden like back of my hand and went to a small hole in one of the high hedges so I could watch Sam and Dean without them seeing me.

I felt a thrilling surge of adrenaline rush through my stomach as I happily contemplated the prospect that this may well be the talk that helped Sam to finally severe ties with Dean.

"Look if you're planning to pitch a hissy fit because I ruffled up your smooth Stanford image save it."

"Dean you're not being fair. I came here for Jess not to have some kind of stroll down memory lane."

"Well your good friend Kylie seems to think that I'm holding you back from your destiny of social greatness and a six figure salary."

"Kylie? She spoke to you?"

"I don't think she speaks to anyone Sam. She just tosses her orders around and expects immediate submission."

"Well she's always been spoiled, so what? Just ignore her, that's what I always did."

"She said she had an offer you shouldn't refuse and she wanted me to stop holding you back"

"What?"

"So am I?"

"Are you what?"

"Am I holding you back Sam?"

"Back from what?"

"From normal; you know, the state of being that was your obsession about five years ago."

"A lot of has happened since then Dean, don't act like you don't know that."

"Yeah, well you came back on the road with me because you wanted to find Dad. I guess we've put that issue to rest now so there's nothing keeping you."

"I wouldn't exactly call the only family I have left nothing."

"Don't let me stop you from getting what you really want Sam."

"And what exactly do you think that is?"

"Well your good friend Kylie told me about her proposal, no pun intended. She said Daddy Dearest would be willing to put up the cash for Law School and a couple other things if you promise to join the family firm."

"Yeah she mentioned all of that, but she may as well have told me to sign a contract with my own blood."

"Don't look a gift horse in the mouth little brother."

"I kinda have other priorities right now."

"Priorities like what?"

"Like making sure you don't get yourself killed because you refuse to admit that you're grieving over Dad."

"Sam if it's one thing Dad did it was to raise good soldiers. I know how to bury the dead and move on."

"Don't lie to me Dean, and worse, don't lie to yourself. Dad's death is killing you and pretending like you don't give a damn isn't going to help. Sooner or later you're going to have to admit that this is tearing you up."

"I'm not the emo one in this family Sam. You are. Don't get it twisted. I'm doing fine."

"I don't believe that for a second Dean. I'm your brother, I know you better than anyone and you've got to let me help you get through this."

"Sam I said I'm fine."

"I said I was fine after Jessica's death and you never accepted that from me. You got me through it Dean and now I just wanna return the favour."

"I don't need babysitting."

"Yes you do. I know that no one is tougher than my big brother but you don't have to be strong all the time."

Dean sat on one of the white wooden benches my mother had added to the garden last summer so she could host her weekly book club meetings in the arbour.

"Look Sammy, it's been a year. If you want to go don't let me hold you back."

Sam joined Dean on the bench, sitting so close to his brother that their shoulders and arms were touching.

"Dean, I don't want to go and I know if I did you wouldn't stop me."

"Well your girl Kylie seems to think I'm holding you hostage."

"Kylie doesn't see much past herself. I've changed so much since I left Stanford, it's just not as simple as getting someone to pay my school fees. I'm a completely different person now, I can't go back."

"What do you want now Sam?" Dean asked softly.

"First of all, I want to keep what's left of my family together. And I want to keep doing what we do. It makes a difference."

"Are you sure about that? You're not just saying those things because you figure I'm on the verge of a meltdown and you have to hold me together."

"No, but I want to be here for you Dean, just like you've always been here for me."

"Don't start Sam."

"No, I'm not gonna let you shut me up this time. When Jess died I wanted to die too. If you hadn't been there for me I don't know what I would have done. Now it's time for me to return the favour."

"First of all, I'm not falling apart. Secondly, I'm not asking you to put your life on hold for me."

"Dean, my life is with you. We're in this together. And with Dad gone we've got to hold on to one another more than ever, because at the end of the day we're all we've really got."

I wanted to scream.

Why did Sam keep limiting his prospects to a life of bumming around with his no good brother? Why couldn't he see there was absolutely no future in that?

"If you're serious about supporting me then you've gotta do one thing," Dean told Sam.

And Sam, like a fool was eager to please.

"Anything."

"Let's blow this joint. These people are driving me crazy."

"I'm right behind you," Sam assured.

They walked out of the garden; but as they were heading for their car Sam stopped.

"Give me a minute," he told Dean. "I need to say a few words to Kylie."

"Knock yourself out," Dean shrugged and kept moving towards the Impala.

I watched Sam walk back to the house and enter through the front door and then I followed him. When I caught up with him in the foyer he was saying goodbye to Daddy.

"So, did you settle things with your brother?" Daddy asked.

"Yes Sir."

"Good. Family's the most important thing Son. You remember that. All this other stuff," Dad gestured to the sweeping interior of the house. "It's all secondary and I'll let you in on a little secret. It's not all it's cracked up to be."

"I think I figured that out." Sam nodded in agreement.

"Well, if you've got that down at your age, you'll be alright. As for me, I think I'll do a little road tripping of my own. I wanna see some of those places you and Dean were telling me about."

"With all you've achieved Mr. Mayne, you can take a little time out to have some fun."

"Damn right boy. It sure would be more fun if I had a brother to hit the road with me."

"Yes," Sam said emphatically. "There's nothing like being on the road with your brother."

"You take care now Sam," Daddy said as he headed up the stairs.

"You too Mr. Mayne."

Sam turned to leave, saw me standing in the foyer and tore in.

"How dare you lie to my brother about me? How dare you make him think I wanted to leave him."

"I was trying to help you, you lousy ingrate. I was trying to save you from yourself and from him."

Sam stepped right up to me and his eyes were blazing with a fury that I feared could only be quenched by the spilling of my blood. For the second time in one day, I found myself staring into the face of a man who looked angry enough to kill me.

In Sam's mind, I'd tried to come between him and his brother; and for that, he'd probably gut me alive without even flinching.

Frightened to the core of my being, I backed away.

Seemingly realising he was on the verge of committing murder, Sam turned and headed for the front door.

"I don't understand you," I whispered, genuinely confused. "While you were in undergrad, we never heard one word about your family and now, all of a sudden, your brother is the most important thing."

Sam paused, inhaled deeply to calm himself, and then faced me again.

"He's always been the most important thing Kylie. I just got my priorities a little screwed up when I was here."

"If you want my opinion I'd say they got screwed up after you left. Dean is an adult, why does he need you to babysit him?"

"Anyone who really knows us would know that he's been babysitting me for most of my life. He calls it being a big brother."

"If he really cared for you that much, he would put his own needs aside and think about what's best for you."

"He's never done anything else. And the fact that you don't know that just means you don't really know me."

"Hate me all you want Sam, but I was only doing what I thought was best for you."

"More to my point Kylie, you have no clue who I am. Being with my brother will always be what's best for me."

**THE END**

**The next chapter is coming up. In the meantime, tell me what you thought about his one.**


	19. A Treasured Obligation

**I Wish I Was Your Brother**

**A/N: **Thanks for being so patient and encouraging while this story went on hiatus yet again. I hope you enjoy this chapter.

* * *

**-NINETEEN-**

**A Treasured Obligation**

Folks used to say that love can make you bear a burden gladly. Well, I never understood what that meant until I met Sam and Dean Winchester.

I was at a pretty dark place in my life when I had a brief but meaningful encounter with those two young boys. Nothing in my life was going right and then I'd gone and made matters worse. Trouble is when you back yourself into a corner sometimes you gotta do some pretty rough things to get yourself out.

So I'd come up with a plan to try climb out of the hole I'd fallen into. It wasn't a pretty plan, but I was gonna carry it out. Then John Winchester was brought into my Emergency Room, ripped to shreds and fighting for his life, and the rest was history.

The truth be told, it all really started to unravel when I asked my best friend Chloe for help. We'd just gotten to the hospital and were getting ready to start our shift when I made a request that really shouldn't have seemed like anything out of the ordinary.

Unfortunately, Chloe knew me too well.

"I'm gonna need you to cover for me on Friday. I gotta take the day off."

"What's up?"

"Nothing, there's just some stuff I gotta get done and I have to go outta town to do it."

"And you can't do this stuff on Saturday?"

"No, I got an appointment for Friday."

"For what?"

"Just something that I gotta take care of. So will you help me out?"

"I got no problem working for you Gina, but you have to tell me what's really going on. You been acting so weird these last few weeks and every time I try to talk to you about it you lie and say you're OK."

I didn't like Chloe's tone at all. If we kept this up, she'd make me talk and I'd sworn I wouldn't tell anyone what was really going on.

"I know I've been preoccupied," I tried to sound casual to fake her out. "But that ain't got nothing to do with this."

"Gina, I've been your best friend from before you got your first training bra, so you might be able to lie to just about anybody else and get away with it but not to me. Now you've been sick, miserable and pre-occupied for the last few weeks and I wanna know what's wrong."

"It's nothing for you to get all concerned about. I just haven't been feeling well."

"Gina, you're a nurse; we work at a hospital. The only time we get worried about not feeling well is if we start bleeding through our eyeballs. You're gonna have to do better than that."

"I don't have to tell you anything," I said heatedly. The badgering was fraying my nerves and I could feel my eyes starting to tear up.

"You're right you don't; but you will if you want my help."

"How can you give me such a hard time when you know what the last few months have been like for me?"

Now the stupid tears were spilling over like I hadn't cried enough lately to fill one of them big pools they swim in at the Olympics.

"Look," Chloe's voice got all soft as she patted my shoulder. "It's really messed up that you lost Jimmy, and I know it's been hard for you to adjust to everything since he passed, but Gina, girl, it's gonna be fine."

"No it's not!" I stepped back, making her hand fall. I turned away, as the pressure started building in my chest, and the air stopped rising in my throat.

This is what always happened when I thought about all the damn trouble I'd gotten myself into and what it was gonna take to get me out. My heart would start racing and then it was like there was no air in the room.

"Gina?" Chloe stepped towards me and took me by the shoulder. "Gina, honey you need to calm down and take a deep breath."

It took several minutes of deep, laboured breathing before I got myself under control. And when I did the tears were coming so fast all I could do was grab poor Chloe and bawl on her shoulder.

"Gina, you gotta tell me what's wrong."

"Chloe, I messed up real bad this time and there's only one way I can think to fix it."

Chloe quickly pulled away so she could look me in the eye. "What have you done?"

"I've gone and gotten myself pregnant."

"What?"

"I'm pregnant Chloe. And I gotta get an abortion."

Now Chloe was the one who looked like she was gonna have a stint of fatal hyperventilation.

I knew once she got a hold of herself, she was gonna give me an earful, which is why I didn't want to tell her in the first place. It took her a few moments to process what I had said. Then her lips shifted into a hard, straight line, her hands went to her hips and she got set to take me on.

"Gina-Mae Beckinson, what the hell have you done?"

"Don't you start!" I knew I had to shut her down before she really got going. "I can't take one of your sermons now Chloe."

In the end, it wasn't me that managed to shut Chloe up; it was the call of duty. The intercom went off ordering us to report to the trauma area right away. We took off immediately, just like we'd been trained to do.

As soon as we arrived I heard the commotion. A man, who I later found out, was John Winchester had been brought in to the ER suffering from near fatal wounds. The patient was in such serious condition that Chloe and Dr. Newman, who was the physician on duty that morning, rushed him to the resuscitation area. It fell to me to question the people who'd brought him in and get any information that would useful for treating him.

I looked at the panic stricken group; two men and two boys. One of the kids appeared to be a teenager, the other one was a few years younger. They stood side by side the older one wore the look of someone fighting to appear collected in the face of fear; while the little one was breathing deeply like he was trying to calm himself down. I didn't know what had happened to bring them all to this point; but it was a miserable, horrible thing for kids to have to see anyone in the state that patient was in. I swallowed trying to look past the obvious signs of distress and do my job.

"What's the patient's name?" I asked.

"John Winchester," one of the men answered.

"Who is his next of kin?"

"We are," the older boy stepped forward and looked to me like he was stepping up. "I'm his son Dean and this is my little brother Sam."

"And you are?" I turned to the two men.

"I'm Bobby Singer and this is Buck McGhee, we're friends of John."

"What's the patient's blood type?"

"O," it was Dean again.

"Does he have any allergies that you're aware of?"

"No."

"Do you know what caused his wounds?"

"It was a hunting accident." This time it was the man named Bobby who spoke.

"What were you hunting?" I asked as much out of morbid curiosity as professionalism.

"We got attacked by a pack of wild boars. We ran, he fell and they got to him. They did quite a bit of damage before we were able to get them off."

"Does the patient have any health insurance?"

"No." Bobby Singer said but he pulled out a credit card. "But you go ahead and do whatever you have to do."

"Thank you very much. Dr. Newton is currently attending to Mr. Winchester. As soon as he's able he'll give you an update on the patient's condition."

I darted behind the front desk and began entering the patient information in the computer. I glanced up as I was typing and saw the younger son turn and walk away from the group. The poor little thing didn't look a day past ten and it must have been a terrible thing to see anyone, much less his Daddy like that.

"Sammy," the older one went after him and put his hand on his shoulder to stop him. The bigger boy turned the smaller one around to face him but the little one looked away.

"Sammy," the older brother dropped down so their faces were level. "It's gonna be alright."

He smoothed the little one's messy shock of hair out of his face. The tenderness of the gesture caught my attention. And instead of getting Mr. John Winchester's information keyed into the computer, I found myself watching his sons like it was some kinda soap opera.

"Dad's gonna be OK." Dean tried to sound reassuring, but he voice was a little shaky.

The little brother looked up into his big brother's eyes like he was searching for something. I knew the look on that little boys face, it was fear. I recognize it right away because lately that was all I'd been seeing in my own eyes whenever I looked in the mirror.

And whatever that little boy was feeling, he refused to be comforted because the next thing I knew, he was pushing his brother off.

"Leave me alone," he muttered and stalked into a corner where he rested his head against a wall.

Big brother went after him and put a hand on his back.

"Sam?"

The result was the same; the little brother shrugged him off and turned away.

"Leave me alone." This time it was louder.

Dean glanced up briefly and I could see the hurt in his eyes. Whatever the dynamic was between them it didn't seem like big brother was used to the little one pushing him off.

Buck McGhee kept his distance, but Bobby Singer went over to the boys. There was something about his body language that told me he was used to dealing with them.

"Give him a little space Dean," Bobby advised. "It's been a horrific morning."

That reminded me that the task at hand was to help John Winchester and not to treat his family's grief like some kind of side show. But there was something a little fascinating about those boys. The older one with eyes that said he'd seen much beyond his years. The younger one that looked like he was sitting on some kinda secret. The way the bigger boy seemed to be reaching out to his little brother and then the way his brother seemed to be pulling away.

It was all I could do to stop watching them and finish my computer entry. When that was done, I hurried into the resuscitation area to see John Winchester's condition for myself.

Just as I suspected, it was about as bad as it gets.

* * *

If I thought all the excitement of the Winchester's arrival was gonna get me out of my lecture from Chloe, then I had to think again. As soon as the patient was taken for surgery, she pulled me into the Nurses' Office and the conversation began.

"You got five minutes to tell me what the hell is going on."

She stood with her arms crossed and one leg tapping making me feel like I was talking to my long dead mother instead of my friend.

"It was a one night stand," I said. I couldn't even look at her while admitting to my folly. "All those weeks ago, when I asked if you and Bill could keep Brian so I could go see a movie, I ended up doing more than that."

"What? Gina, who do you think you are some kinda careless teenager?"

"I was so anxious and tense about everything that I felt like I was gonna lose my mind. Chloe, you have no idea, but it's been awful since Jimmy died."

"I understand how you've been feeling."

"No you don't. You still got your husband. Your kids still have their daddy, your whole family's intact. And me, I feel so alone all the time."

"But we're all here for you Gina. You know you're not alone."

"Everyone was there for me when Jimmy died. But now that he's buried life goes on and everyone's got their own lives. And me, I got a mortgage to pay, a child to support and a job to keep and sometimes it feels like it's more than I can handle. I'd really been feeling anxious and overwhelmed and that night, I wanted to just blow off some steam. So I skipped the movie, ended up at a bar about two towns over and after one too many drinks I ended up getting friendly with a drifter."

"Gina-Mae Beckinson, you didn't!"

"I did. He asked me back to his motel, and I said yes and then at two o'clock in the morning, I woke up sober and tip-toed the hell outta there so I wouldn't have to face him. I kinda just blocked the whole thing out, put it down to some kinda temporary insanity. Then I missed my period and I realised, I didn't even know the man's last name much less have his number."

I think it took every ounce of Chloe's self control for her not to mark the sign of the cross on me and then try to drive the devil out. We'd been good church-going girls ever since we were little. We were the kind who played by the rules, listened to their parents and saved everything for the men we married.

"O.K. now look Gina," Chloe dropped the lecturing voice and seemed like she was trying to reason with me. "So you made a mistake..."

"No," I said sounding like some kinda borderline hysteric. "A mistake is when you pick up the wrong package at the supermarket; this is a full blown catastrophe. I loved Jimmy with all my heart; and I haven't even been a widow for a full year and I up and get pregnant for a man I don't even know."

"So you've done something that you're ashamed of and you think the solution to that is to just get rid of your baby?"

"With everything that's been happening, I don't know what else to do."

"You mean there's more?"

"Yes. A while back, before Jimmy died, he'd talk to me about investing in some money scheme where you can double what you put in after a couple months. I told him I didn't think we should get involved because it all looked too good to be true, but he went and did it anyway behind my back."

"What?"

"Not only did he wipe out the little savings that we had, but he took cash off a couple credit cards thinking he'd be able to pay it back when he got his payout. Only the scheme went belly up and he was left holding the bag. I didn't find out until after he died."

"I don't believe that. Gina, there must have been some kinda mistake."

"That's what I thought at first but I've been through everything and there's nothing left. It seems in the last few months he was trying to pay off all the credit card debt so he stopped paying his insurance and just about everything else. I didn't get a penny when he died and there's nothing left for Brian. So now I'm all alone with a mortgage to pay and a child to support and I'm in debt up to my eyeballs."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"I didn't believe it at first and then I was just too embarrassed. And I didn't want to dishonor Jimmy's name. He was a good husband and a good father, it just seems like he made some really bad choices. But when he was alive, he took good care of us. I never had to think about any of these things and now I'm so overwhelmed I don't know what to do. I'm working extra shifts but I'm not making nearly enough to make the payments on everything. So how can I bring a new kid into all of this Gina? If I feel like I'm drowning as it is, how am I gonna take on any more?"

"You'll get help. I'll be there and your Daddy'll help out like he always does."

Now, I had to sit down for this part. When I thought about my father, the room was fixing to start spinning.

"Chloe," I wailed, as the tears came flooding back. "Daddy's starting to forget things. It's getting to the point where I'm scared to leave him alone with Brian and the last time we saw the doctor he told me that it looks like the early signs of Alzheimer's and I gotta start thinking about long term care in an institution. Now where's the money gonna come from for that? I'm a single mom and an only child and it's all come down on me. It's too much Chloe, I can't handle it. So you tell me now; what am I supposed to do?"

Even Chloe, who generally felt like she knew it all, couldn't come up with an answer.

I was well and truly out of options.

* * *

Emergency surgery only solved half of John Winchester's problems. He needed another procedure but there was so much internal inflammation that Dr. Newton wouldn't risk it. Instead we took him to the ICU and medicated him, hoping to bring the swelling down so we could operate again.

It was pretty grim news to deliver to his friends but it was even more devastating to tell those two boys.

"We're doing everything we can to bring down the swelling," Dr. Newton said after he painted the bleak picture. "But until we do, we can't do the surgery."

"And how long can he last without the surgery?" Bobby Singer asked.

"To be perfectly honest, it's touch and go until we can get back in and finish patching him up."

"So he could die waiting to get better enough for the surgery that he needs to save his life?"

Bobby Singer was obviously a man who could reason things out.

"We're doing everything we can," Dr. Newton said again, sounding a bit like a parrot. "If the swelling isn't down in a few hours, we'll have to up the dosage of his anti-inflammatory medication."

"Yeah, but from what you're saying, in a few hours he might be dead anyway."

"It's a bit of a catch twenty-two situation," Dr. Newton explained. "But as long as he'll fight, we'll fight with him. Now, you'll have to excuse me please."

The doctor disappeared back into the ER and left John Winchester's loved ones to process the situation. I couldn't take my eyes off the kids.

At one point Dean looked like he was about to burst out crying, then he got this hard look across his jaw line and any sign of vulnerability was gone. Beside him, Sam just stared down at the ground, refusing to look up.

"O.K. now boys," Bobby faced the two of them. "You know if anyone's a fighter, it's your Daddy. And he knows the two of you are depending on him to make it through this."

At those words Sam lifted his head, but he looked so miserable and fearful that my heart just about popped in my chest. The poor little thing covered his face with his hands and backed away from the group slowly. When he started gasping, I went towards him. But two objects can't be in the same place at the same time and I found myself colliding with Dean.

"It looks like he's having a panic attack," I said gesturing for Dean to step away. "You'd better stand back and let me handle this."

"No," Dean insisted. "You're just gonna freak him out more."

"I understand your concern but allow me to deal with this."

"Just leave us alone," he snapped, practically yanking his brother out of my reach.

"Ma'am," Bobby Singer said like he was both warning and lecturing. "Let him tend to his brother."

I meant to reassert myself but Sam looked at me with such horror, that I backed off. Something was haunting that kid, I could see it in his eyes. Dean must have seen it too because he took his little brother by his shoulders and looked straight at him.

"Sammy look at me."

Heaving hard, the little boy looked up. His face was flushed and tears were trickling out of his eyes. He looked exhausted and a little disoriented but he met his brother's gaze.

"Sammy, it's alright," Dean brought his hand to Sam's cheek and rubbed it gently. "I'm right here O.K."

Sam's breathing slowed and seemed to steady off but even from where I stood I could see there was pain in his eyes. I suppose any kid would be hurt if his Daddy's life was on the line, but it just seemed like there was something more. I could sense it from the way he was looking at his big brother; he just seemed to be searching for something in Dean's eyes.

Whatever Sam was looking for, I don't think he found it because soon he was squeezing his own eyes shut and hanging his head again.

"What's wrong Sammy?" Dean asked, using his fingers to bring Sam's head level with his.

Sam looked away.

"Hey kiddo, I know all of this is really hard for you but don't shut me out. Whatever it is, Sammy, it's going to be OK."

"I wanna be by myself," Sam said sadly.

He walked off to the far corner of the waiting room, sat in a chair and covered his face with his hands. Dean looked around helplessly and then stalked out of the waiting room.

* * *

After Dean walked out, I also left the waiting room and went back to the Nurses' Office. I was glad to find it empty because I had a mountain of paperwork to get through and didn't need any distractions. However, when I sat down at the computer, I couldn't concentrate. I kept playing the scene with the Winchester Boys over and over in my head. Those poor kids could lose their Daddy at any second and I wondered what would become of them if they did.

Apparently I wasn't the only one concerned about it, because I soon heard voices outside my window. The Nurses' Office was right beside the hospital garden where there was a nice, peaceful sitting area where people could get a break from the generally tense environment in the Emergency Room or the ICU. As soon as I realised it was Bobby Singer and Buck McGhee talking, I went to the window to listen and look.

"We need a plan Bobby," Buck said.

"For what?"

"I hate to bring this up, but that doctor didn't seem to be overly hopeful about John pulling outta this. And if he doesn't, we're gonna have to make a decision about what's gonna happen with the boys."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you and me best decide what to do with Sam and Dean if John doesn't make it."

"Look the man's in surgery, fighting for his life..."

"And I've been on this end of things with enough hunters to know that it can go either way at a time like this. So it doesn't hurt to plan from now. Personally, I don't think either of us is in a position to feed two additional mouths, so maybe, me and my wife can take Sam in and you can take Dean. That'll cover things short term while we work out a permanent solution."

"You mean, split them up? Those boys won't survive a minute without each other."

"That's all very well and good if their Daddy sticks around. If he kicks the bucket then it'll be easier to deal with one kid than two."

Then Dean suddenly appeared in the garden and from the angry way he stepped up to Buck I guessed I wasn't the only one listening in on this little talk.

"What the hell do you mean?" Dean demanded.

"Bobby and I were just having a little adult conversation Dean, why don't you leave us alone so we can finish it."

"You were talking about me and Sam. I got a right to hear anything you're saying about my brother and me."

"OK fine, no sense in dancing around it. If your Daddy don't make it outta this place alive we have to think about the long term situation for the two of you. I got room, I can take your little brother in and you can stay with Bobby. That'll do while we figure something out."

"You're out of mind if you think I'm gonna let you take my brother."

"Let me just remind you Dean, you're a kid. You're gonna have to let us adults decide what's best."

"No one is taking Sammy from me. If Dad isn't around, I'll take care of him; I don't even know how you got into this."

"Alright now cool it," Bobby Singer stepped in. "There's no need to get ahead of ourselves."

Buck McGee took him on instantly. "In our line of work thinking ahead is what keeps you alive." Then he turned back to Dean. "Look boy, I barely have two dimes to rub together and Bobby here ain't exactly Bill Gates. In a perfect world we could keep the two of you together but you can't just expect people to pony up and take care of two boys for the next ten years. Heck I bet your food bill alone could run a man into debtors' jail."

"No one's asking you for anything," Dean was shouting now. "I'll take care of my brother. Sam doesn't need anything from anyone not as long as I'm around."

"Lose the attitude Dean. If your father dies you won't get to make the decisions, they'll be made for you."

"O.K that's enough Buck," Bobby Singer raised a hand to signal he meant business. "These boys have been through a lot today and you wanna start an argument like this at a time like now?"

"I'm just trying to help."

"You can help by keeping your big trap shut," that was Dean again.

Bobby backed Dean up.

"And you can probably help some more by leaving."

"You ungrateful bastard," Buck growled.

"I mean it Buck," Bobby warned. "If all you can do is upset the boys you'd best be on your way."

Buck hustled off looking fit to blow a gasket but him leaving didn't seem to make Dean feel any better.

"If anyone tries to take my little brother I'll run so fast and so far that you'll never been able to find me," he said.

"I thought you'd know me better by now Dean," Bobby said calmly. "I'll never let anyone split up you and Sam."

Something struck me in all of this. Buck and Bobby kept saying "split up" but Dean kept saying "take away". Was in that in his mind, he was responsible for Sam? That seemed like a huge burden on the shoulders of a kid.

"Let's not take this thing to where it doesn't need to go," Bobby went on. "Right now, I don't want you getting upset."

Then Dean sighed loudly. "Never mind me, something's up with Sammy."

"Yeah Dean, you're father's in ICU battling for his life."

"No it's not just that. Usually when anything happens, I'm the first one Sam will run to. And he's always clingy when he's upset. But today he actually pushed me away."

"You gotta admit Dean; this isn't a usual situation, even for you guys."

"I know but something's really bothering him and he doesn't want to talk about it. It's not like him to keep stuff from me."

"Well, until he's ready to talk Dean, there's not much you can do. You know that little boy's just as stubborn as your Daddy. You're not gonna get a word outta him until he's ready to spill the beans."

"I know," Dean admitted sadly. "I just wish he'd let me help him."

"Look, I know you're a big brother first and foremost but how are you doing in all of this?"

"I'll be OK."

"Really? That's your Daddy in there fighting for his life kid. And I know the Winchester credo about big men not crying but you know that's a bunch a crap in the Singer book of life."

Dean sighed again.

"It all sucks Bobby but I can't fall apart. If I lose it, Sammy's gonna get even worse. Let me just focus on getting him through this in one piece and then we can talk about me."

Bobby rubbed the top of Dean's head hard.

"I'm here if you need me," he said gruffly.

"I know." Dean sounded genuinely grateful.

They must have been walking away from the window because their voices faded out to nothing a few minutes after that.

Left alone in the quiet, with only my thoughts, the silence suddenly became unbearably loud.

* * *

I observed Dr. Newton's next examination of John Winchester and then went back to the Nurses' Office to wait for the decision about surgery. I know he'd have to discuss it with some of the other physicians and then they'd tell us nurses and then inform the family. When I got to the Nurses' Office I was surprised to see Bobby Singer standing there.

"Excuse Mr. Singer, but you're not supposed to be back here," I said.

"I know that, but I need to talk to you so let's go somewhere where it's alright for me to be."

"The waiting room's fine," I said leading the way quickly to the safe area. "Where are the boys?" I couldn't resist asking when I didn't see the Winchester kids.

"I told them to go outside and get some fresh air. They'll soon be going stir crazy sitting around all the time."

"I agree," I couldn't help but say. "It's not my place but I feel really bad for those kids. The younger one in particular seems quite traumatized by everything. And the bigger one's trying to act like a man but for god's sake he's just a kid himself. How old is he anyway?"

"Just turned fourteen and the little one's ten."

"Good lord. I can't imagine seeing my Daddy like this at that age."

"Which is what I wanted to talk to you about," Mr. Singer said.

"Dr. Newton just performed a full examination. He'll be out to give you an update soon."

"I figured as much, but he's gonna give me the Harvard and Yale version. A woman like you can just break it down and tell me what your gut's saying."

"Mr. Singer, it's only right that you should wait for the doctor. He'll explain everything."

"I'm sure he will. But in my experience, the people on the ground always have a better handle on what's really going on. Now I got two boys out there whose future is hanging in the balance, so tell me nurse, Gina", he glanced at my ID badge. "What's your prognosis?"

Whatever Bobby Singer did for a living he'd probably make a great detective.

"He's in pretty bad shape, but it's looking better. The swelling's gone down so I think Dr. Newton's gonna do the surgery sooner rather than later. But the surgery is his only hope. He's not gonna get through this without it."

"And having seen stuff like this before what do you think his chances are?"

"That's really not for me to say Sir."

"Yeah but you're already far enough out on the limb so why bother to go running for cover now."

"I'll say this much. I didn't think he'd make it through the surgery this morning and he did. And I didn't think we'd be able to get the swelling down either, but it's coming on nicely. Whoever John Winchester is, he seems to be one hell of a fighter and I wouldn't bet against him."

I don't know when I got to be an authority on these things but Bobby Singer looked relieved at what I'd said. And because this whole conversation was off the record, I decided to pushed things even further.

"I hope he pulls through. I couldn't stand to see those boys lose their Daddy. I mean, it's not like I know them or anything, but it seems like it would be a real tragedy."

"Yeah," Bobby agreed sadly. "That would be pretty devastating for the two of them."

"Can I ask what happened to the mama?"

"She died shortly after Sam, the little one, was born."

"Oh," I shook my head. "I can speak from experience, sometimes it's no fun being a single parent. You kinda live with this fear that if anything happens to you your kids won't have anyone to take care of them."

"Well, I'll say this; John may be a single parent to Dean, but Dean more than helps him out when it comes to Sam."

"Yeah, I kinda figured that out from seeing him in action. He's an over protective one, that Dean."

"He's pretty much been that way since his brother was born. He's always been the main caregiver."

"How comes? Daddy's not around a lot?"

"Probably not as much as he should be, so Dean's always stood in the gap."

"Is that fair to that poor kid?" Don't ask me why, I was getting involved in these people's business. "Seems to me a boy Dean's age should be off playing football or practicing lines to say to the first pretty girl that catches his eye. His Daddy should do better by him than force him to be some kinda surrogate parent. Why should he feel that kinda pressure at his age? "

"Well, I'd say you've misunderstood the whole situation. No one's forcing that boy to do anything; he's taken it on himself. You couldn't bribe him away from his little brother because he loves that kid more than anything."

"But he's just a boy himself," I argued.

"That doesn't matter," Bobby shrugged. "It's never mattered. Dean would give Sam the last piece of meat on his plate and it's not 'cause anybody will tell him he has to, it's because that's how he's always been."

Any retort I had died on my lips when Dr. Newton stepped into the waiting room and said he wanted to speak to John Winchester's family. Bobby went and fetched the boys so they could hear the doctor's decision. I stepped outside to allow them some privacy for the conversation but before I was out of ear-shot, I heard Dr. Newton saying they'd be going ahead with the surgery. Chloe would be assisting him, so I knew I could get away with taking a few minutes for myself. Lord knows, I needed to clear my head.

I walked out into the garden and sat on a bench in a far corner trying to process all that I'd seen and heard today. Was it coincidence or fate that I had encountered the Winchesters and their peculiar breed of family when I found myself faced with making a life-changing decision about mine.

And what was it about that boy Dean and the fierce love and loyalty he had for his brother that had me sitting here questioning myself and my decisions.

When little Sam Winchester came chasing into the garden, I got the answer to my questions.

I don't know what Dr. Newton said, but it seems that conversation had upset that little boy more than ever.

He came flying into the garden and stopped just before he went crashing into a hedge. Then he looked around like he was trapped and had to find a way to escape. Before I could even think to approach the poor child, Dean was right behind him.

"Sammy wait!" He yelled.

I shrunk back in my own corner of the garden not wanting them to see me. I figured Bobby would be out behind Dean but it seems he decided to let the boys settle this themselves. That man really seemed to have worked out a formula that told him when to get between the Winchester Boys and when to leave them alone. This seemed to be an occasion when he was leaving it up to big brother to settle the little one down.

Dean got hold of Sam and turned him around probably using a little more force than he meant to because Sam flinched visibly.

"Sorry," Dean said a little roughly. But when his little brother backed away he held on to him. "Come on Sammy you know I didn't mean to hurt you, but you can't run off like that."

Sammy only glanced around furtively, looking desperate and helpless. Dean kneeled down, drawing level with his little brother and his voice got a lot more gentle.

"Sammy, I know you're scared but the doctor said they can do the surgery now. That's good news."

"But Dad could still die."

"Yeah, I know but he's come through so far and the surgery will help."

"And what if it doesn't?" Sam asked. And the kid sounded so scared I was tempted to come out of my corner to go and comfort him myself. "What if he dies?"

"Dad's a fighter Sam," Dean sounded convinced of what he was saying. "He knows we're counting on him and he's going to pull through."

But Sam stepped back from his brother and turned away again. Then he covered his face and started bawling like he was in physical pain.

"Sammy," Dean reached out for Sam again. And from the sound of his voice I think seeing his brother in such a state was bringing him close to his own meltdown.

That young man had to be feeling his own grief and pressure at the thought that his Daddy could die any minute now. Yet, he was keeping it all under control managing his own emotions so he could see clear to look after his little brother.

"Sammy," he gently wiped the little boy's eyes. "I know you're upset about Dad but something else is wrong and you gotta tell me what it is."

"I can't," Sam wailed.

"Sammy," Dean tried again. "There's nothing you can't tell me; you know that."

"I can't," Sam said again. "I don't want you to hate me."

Now Dean was lifting Sam's head to look him dead in the eye.

"Sammy, I'm your big brother. There's nothing you can ever do to make me hate you."

The little one looked at his brother and the searching, hopeful look on his face said he was desperate to be reassured that what Dean said was true.

"Tell me," Dean begged. "What's wrong?"

"We had a fight," Sam managed to get out in the middle of the heaving and the bawling.

"Who?"

"Me and Dad. Last night before he left with Buck and Uncle Bobby for the hunt, we had a fight."

"Where was I?"

"Out getting dinner. I was mad at Dad because he told me we were going to leave town next week and I'd have to leave my new school and I couldn't try out for soccer. I yelled at him and told him I hated him and he was a bad father. That was the last thing I said to him before he left and then he got hurt and now he might die."

Now the truth was out, Sam just gave in and wept like his heart was breaking. For a moment Dean could only stare, bewildered, like his heart was breaking too.

Then he just grabbed his little brother and hugged him hard. He kept holding on and just let poor little Sam cry. And it just struck me that this was probably what he always did, held himself together so he could make sure his little brother didn't fall apart. So what if he was a kid himself; he was a big brother. Life had dealt him those cards and God help him, he'd decided to play the game right.

While the sobbing went on, Dean gently stroked the back of Sam's shaggy head and kept whispering to him. At one point, Sam looked up and said something I couldn't quite hear; but from the way he was breathing hard and sobbing I guess he was still quite upset. Dean touched his forehead to Sam's and held it there while he whispered back to his brother. Whatever he was saying seemed to work, because after a while, the sobbing quieted down.

Then, it seems it was time for a big brother to little brother heart to heart.

"Let me let you in on a little secret Sammy," Dean said when the crying stopped. "It's not the first time Dad's heard something like that. I've said all kinds of things when I've been mad at him or upset about something. He knows better than to think that's how you really feel."

"But I said it Dean. And now I feel like it was just mean."

"Maybe it was. But we all say stuff we don't mean when we're mad. Dad included. He knows you love him Sammy."

"You really think so?" The little boy sounded so hopeful, that I figured Dean's answer would mean the difference between peace of mind and a possible lifetime of regret.

"I know so," Dean assured him. "And I'm your big brother. I know everything."

The sigh of relief sounded across the garden and for all I know they could hear it in the parking lot. Then, finally, Sam seemed willing to accept some comfort from his big brother. He dropped his head down against Dean's chest and let his brother hug him. And from the relieved look on his own face it seemed that giving Sam comfort made Dean feel better too.

Yet there was one more thing on little Sam's mind.

"Dean," he asked, his head still nestled against his brother's chest. "What's gonna happen to us if anything bad happens to Daddy?"

And wasn't that every parent's greatest fear. Who would look after your babies if you couldn't? Obviously, Dean Winchester had already thought it through.

"Let me tell you something; even if something happens to Dad, I'm always going to be here for you. Sammy, I'll die before I let anything happen to you."

My knees felt weak, so I eased down slowly and sat on the grass. And there, in the hot afternoon sun, I put my arms around my stomach and held on tight. From the day I found out I was pregnant, I'd avoided bonding with the baby, not wanting to get attached to what I wasn't going to keep. But now I rubbed my stomach gently trying to establish a connection I had been too scared and too selfish to create.

A fourteen year old boy, still just a child himself had been willing to step up to the plate and care for his sibling and I didn't want to take responsibility for my own unborn child.

I had never felt more ashamed of myself in my entire life.

"I'm sorry," was all I could manage to say before I broke down and wept.

* * *

John Winchester came through surgery better than any of us would have expected. The twenty four hours following the operation were critical, but everyone who worked on him was pretty convinced he'd be OK.

I stood with Dr. Newton when he gave the family the good news. Sam looked so relieved he practically melted into his big brother's side. Dean pulled Sam close and kept his arm around him the whole time the Doctor was talking to them.

"We'll keep him in recovery overnight. Then in the morning we'll move him to a regular room, but you won't be able to see him until tomorrow so you should probably go home."

"You mean leave him?" Dean asked.

"We can't let you into the room because he's highly susceptible to infection so it's probably best for you to go. You all have been here all day, you should get something to eat and get a good night sleep."

"You heard the Doctor boys," Bobby Singer said. "You need to get some food and some rest."

I watched them as they walked away. Dean's arm was still around his little brother's shoulder. He leaned down to whisper something to Sam and then rubbed the top of his head. I could hear Sam snicker and saw him lean in closer.

The Winchesters were going to be alright.

When the motley crew disappeared across the parking lot, I went back into the Nurses' Office and sat down in front of my computer trying to complete all the paper work that had backed up on me while I been busy eavesdropping on the Winchester's life. I hadn't made much progress when Chloe came in and pulled up a chair at my desk.

"I need to tell you something," she said looking all solemn.

"Yes?"

"I didn't realise how much pressure you were under and I can't imagine how I'd feel if my husband died and I was looking at raising two children on my own. I had no right to judge you, Gina. And I just wanna tell you, that it's your choice and I'll support you no matter what."

"I really appreciate that Chloe," I said honestly. "But you won't have to cover for me on Friday."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not having the abortion Chloe. I'm keeping my baby. And I don't know how I'm gonna manage but I'll figure it out as I go along."

Chloe reached out to hug me and I leaned against her and sighed. "I'm just gonna do it one day at a time."

''You're making the right decision," Chloe said stroking my hair.

"I know."

"Things may seem really overwhelming now but you got an obligation to that baby and you're doing the right thing by it."

Chloe had it all wrong; but I couldn't explain it to her. She hadn't seen young Dean Winchester, a boy whose voice had barely broken, who was willing to be mother and father to his younger brother not because it was his duty but because he was crazy about the kid. She hadn't seen little Sam who had seemed so lost and tormented and yet all his fears were calmed by his big brother's love.

How could I explain that from watching those two boys I'd realised that sometimes, the best thing you can give someone is just the promise that you'll always be there for them. I now knew that I could give my baby that promise. Even if I didn't know where the first penny was coming from to do anything, I could promise to always be there. Because those Winchester boys had shown me that when it comes down to it, it's got everything to do with love and nothing to do with obligation.

**THE END**

* * *

Thanks for reading, stay tuned for more. And while we wait for the next chapter, tell me what you thought about this one.


	20. Parental Bond

**I Wish I Was Your Brother**

**A/N: **I cannot believe that this is actually the 20th installment in this series. It's been an absolute pleasure to write it and to share it with all of you. Thanks for reading.

* * *

**-TWENTY-**

**Parental Bond**

I have a lot of painful memories of various events in my life; but a particularly hurtful one is the day I realised my younger son Sam had replaced me with his big brother Dean.

It didn't happen overnight, and if I had paid more attention, I would have seen it coming. But I didn't and I got blindsided which is the worst thing that could happen to any self-respecting hunter.

Now some would argue that I only have myself to blame; but that doesn't make me feel any better. Others would probably say that I should have expected it to happen and that makes me feel even worse.

You see, after Mary died one of the hardest things for me to do was look at Dean. Every time I glanced at my elder son I saw the deep-seated need in his eyes. And whenever he looked at me hoping for the same comforting love and affection he got from his mother, I felt so inadequate that I wanted to drive my car off a cliff. The need in those little golden eyes called for the kind of emotional output I wasn't prepared to give. I just didn't have it in me after Mary was gone.

Looking back now, I realise that it was after reaching out for me and repeatedly coming up empty, that Dean, young as he was, decided he wasn't going to allow that to happen to his little brother. In retrospect, I should have seen the signs when he took to mollycoddling Sam. In fact, Dean had signalled the role he intended to play in his little brother's life when Sammy was probably about a year old and Dean started tucking him in.

Mary had always enjoyed bedtime immensely. She would cuddle up with Dean, read to him or tell him stories and pet him until he fell asleep. Dean had loved those times a lot and he seemed to have expected I would take up the task after his mother's death. However, when he asked me once if I could put him to bed, all I could manage was to pull back the covers and draw them up over him before my knees started to feel weak.

The memories of my wife and the loving role she had played in our lives came flooding back, threatening to undo me. To spear my son the shock of watching his father breakdown, I had gruffly told him goodnight and hurried from his bedside. Before I turned to leave, I had seen the hurt and disappointment on Dean's face but there was nothing I could do about it. I could never take Mary's place and wasn't even going to try.

Sadly, Dean never asked me to put him to bed again. But without any fanfare, he took charge of Sam's bedtime rituals. He would curl up with his little brother, talk to him or tell him stories until Sam fell asleep. It got to the point where Sam would automatically go to Dean whenever he started feeling sleepy. I have many memories of them under the motel bed blankets, Sammy nestled against his brother's chest listening intently while Dean recited made up tales. It became a common sight to see Dean rubbing Sammy's back or stroking his hair while talking to him softly.

Most of my work was done at night so I tended to miss bedtime because I was either off on a hunt or doing research. However, many nights when I checked on the boys, I would have to move Dean to his own bed after he'd fallen asleep cuddling with Sam.

Whenever it occurred to me that I should have been part of their nightly rituals, I dismissed the thought immediately. The hunt was more important than cuddles and bedtime stories. So bedtime became their time.

On top of everything else, Dean was also the first responder whenever Sammy cried; and Sam was quite a crier. Unfortunately, his tears like Dean's needy looks, always made me feel miserably inadequate. I knew I would never have the soft, loving touch that had come so easily to Mary. And I didn't have the first clue how to calm, sooth and reassure like she would have. So every time Sam burst into tears, I was reminded of the gaping void that had been left by my wife's death. And worse, I felt like I was losing her all over again.

Dean on the other hand would start moving the moment Sam began to sniff. He'd rush to rub knees, brush off dirt and where necessary bandage cuts and dress scrapes. He would give hugs, kisses, back rubs and head pats. He always managed to calm his little brother down and get Sam to see that every little accident didn't mean the end of life as we know it.

But it wasn't the delivery of first aid that Sam came to crave, it was the comfort of having big brother love and care for him; not to mention the security of having Dean close. So soon, even the thought of distress would send him sprinting into his big brother's arms. I always suspected that Sam became an incessant crier as a means of getting Dean's attention. And if it was a ploy, it worked every time.

To try to stem the problem I had lectured Dean strongly trying to get him to understand that sometimes he should just leave Sammy to cry it out. Sam would figure out soon enough that he would be OK and most childhood mishaps only brought temporary distress. I may as well have tried to melt ice with my words; my oldest was adamant that his little brother would never cry alone; not on his watch.

Once when I stopped him as he was hurrying to get to a wailing Sammy, he told me why.

"We can't keep rushing to Sam every time he cries Dean," I had said.

"Why not?" Dean had countered, looking more grown up than he should have at the tender age of eight. "Mom used to always come to me."

"That was different," I argued.

"How?"

Totally unprepared for that response, I scrambled to think of a reply. When a gaping ache started overcoming my heart, I grasped for the first straw I could find. "You were younger Dean."

"No. I was four when she died and she hadn't stopped, Sammy's four now."

I didn't want to hurt Dean but I always felt it was best to help my boys to live in reality. "Well your Mom's not here anymore."

"I know; but because she's gone does that mean no one's gonna hug Sammy when he's hurting?"

I should have done something then, but my own grief was still so sharp that I was just numb. Mary was gone and I just couldn't be what she had been; not for Dean and not for Sam.

I hadn't had the fortitude to continue that conversation. So I had fallen back on what had always served me well, a straight face and the pretence of a steely resolve.

"The world is tough Dean," I had told my oldest. "And Sammy's going to have to learn that we don't always have someone there to give us hugs and kisses when we cry."

"Well as long as I'm here, he does."

I'd let it rest there, because I honestly figured Dean would eventually grow out of his role as coddler. When he became a preteen, and rigorously started shrugging off most things associated with childhood I figured he would become far less demonstrative with his little brother.

It turns out, I figured wrong.

As a preteen Dean began to take his role as Sam's primary caregiver even more seriously. And he took things to a whole other level whenever Sam got sick. At the first sign of any illness, Sammy was ushered to bed and made to rest until Dean was satisfied with his recovery. Personally, sometimes I thought he overdid it because face it, which little kid isn't going to pick up a stomach bug or catch the flu from time to time. These things were usually simple enough to deal with but I let Dean play nurse because it left me free to concentrate on my work.

However I still remember the killer flu Sam had when he was about seven. It was so bad that I'd bundled both boys in the Impala and headed for Bobby's so Sam would have a comfortable and familiar place to recuperate. He was past the worst of it when a hunt came up and I joined the team Bobby had put together to get the job done.

The night we planned to strike, we were putting our weapons together when Dean came up to me.

"You need to come to Sammy," he said pulling me by the hand.

"Not now Dean, I have to go to work."

"But Sammy's feeling cranky."

"He'll be fine; he's stopped running the fever he just needs to rest. I gave him some medicine so he should just go to sleep now."

"But he's asking for you Dad."

"He's just being fussy Dean; you know he can get that way sometimes."

"Dad he's sick and he needs you."

"Dean, he's doing much better and I'm not going to drop everything and run to him every time he calls. I have business to take care of, so I'll come and check on him when I get back. But you can go and stay with him and quiet him down."

That little exchange earned me a sit-down with Bobby immediately after the hunt. We were nursing our standard post-hunt whiskeys in his study when he got up and went to one of his massive book shelves. He came back with two paperbacks which he handed to me.

"What the hell is this?" I said examining the books.

Usually when Bobby gave me reading material it was about something that would come in handy on a current or future hunt. These titles "Parental Bonding" and "A Father's Guide to the Early Years" had me wondering if my friend was starting to lose it.

"I think it's time you did a little research for your **_other_** job," Bobby said purposefully.

"You want me to read up on parenting?"

"Yes. You got two boys that need you to be a father to them. If you take the same approach to raising them that you take to hunting you'll make an excellent parent."

"If I need advice about parenting, I think I'll ask someone who's actually bringing up kids."

"I am bringing up kids, John. Yours."

"I never asked for your help."

"Yeah, but you got it anyway. Do you realise that Sam doesn't know what it's like to even have a mother. At least Dean had Mary for four years but poor little Sam's never even had his mom put him to bed or give him a kiss when he's sick. That child needs warmth and affection John not to be hauled from place to place while you chase after god-knows-what."

"Are you finished?"

"No. Have you looked at Dean lately? He's busy trying to mother Sam and make up for everything you're too busy to do and he's just a kid. Now I've been doing some reading up on these things..."

"I just bet you have," I tried to cut him off.

"I ain't finished!" Bobby shouted. And when I looked at him, stunned and silent, he carried on. "I've been reading up and these years are critical John, especially for Sam because he's still so young. Everything you do now is gonna impact those two kids for the rest of their lives so you better get it right."

Because Bobby was the closest thing to family me and the boys had left, I didn't stop the conversation with a right hook to his jaw. Instead, I flung the books back at him.

"I don't need some book to tell me how to raise my kids Bobby. Do those crappy writers have any idea how much evil is out there and what we gotta do to fight it? I'm gonna train my boys for war; I'm gonna give them everything they'll need to be able to survive against anything they come up against; and to me, **_that's_** a parent's job."

Bobby had picked the books up from the floor where they had landed.

"I know what's out there more than anybody else but that doesn't mean you have to make soldiers out of your sons."

Quietly, he walked over to one of his book cases and tucked the paperbacks in on a high shelf.

"I'll keep these for you in case you ever feel like you need to be more than a drill sergeant for Sam and Dean."

Knowing I needed this man, and realising that I would beat the crap out of him if I stayed in his presence a second longer, I turned to walk out of the study.

But Bobby Singer had to have the last word.

"John," he called after me. I looked back at him across the room. "I hope you never regret this conversation."

The thing that always kills me about Bobby, is that as much as he's a pain in the butt, he's got more than a sixth sense about human nature. And when it comes to matters like this, he's usually right. So it was only fitting that when it all came to a head, me and the boys were staying at his house.

I was hunting a vengeful spirit that was terrorising a family that lived in an old colonial house. This particular hunt hit too close to home and the result was harrowing.

The family being terrorized was a young couple with two little boys. I spent the whole night hunting for the unmarked grave on their property but before I could finish digging it up, the spirit set the house on fire. I managed to salt and burn the bones but when I ran to help the family, the fire was in full blaze.

Then the parents emerged from the house, the wife screaming and struggling while the husband dragged her from the flames. It turns out; the spirit had started the fire in children's room and then locked them inside. The parents had tried to get to the kids but the fire flared up and then they'd had to run. With a strength born of desperation, the wife flung off her husband's hold and then dashed back into the house in one last vain attempt to save her children.

As she disappeared within the inferno, the husband fell to the ground screaming like a terrified animal that was having his entrails torn out. Neither the wife nor the kids ever came back out of the house.

On the drive back to Bobby's I broke down weeping and had to pull over before I lost control of the Impala. Although I had sworn I'd never cry again after I buried Mary, that night I bawled like a baby. I cried for my young, beautiful wife who had taken my heart and soul when she'd been ripped away from me. I cried for my boys who were growing up without their mother's love and with a father who was too emotionally crippled to do anything about it. I thought about my sons, so precious and innocent; and so desperate for the kind of love and nurturing I was incapable of giving to them. I know I had neglected the softer side of their upbringing but that didn't mean that I didn't love my boys with all my heart.

By the time I made it back to the house my nerves were shot and my insides were raw. I needed to see my sons and hold them close and reassure them that although I had been so distant, they still had their father. As soon as I entered the house, I went straight upstairs and headed for their room. I stood at the threshold needing to take a few moments to just look at them in the peacefulness of sleep.

But Sammy was tossing restlessly like he was in the grips of a bad dream. Suddenly, he sat up screaming, and before I could respond, Dean jerked awake. He took a few seconds to get his bearings and then he was out of his own bed and moving to sit with his brother. Dean reached out to hug Sam and within a few moments, Sammy started quieting down.

When I saw Dean take Sam in his arms, I ached to be the one holding my youngest and soothing his fears. The horror I'd witnessed tonight had reminded me that a child needs his parents to comfort and reassure him in the face of fear from things real or imagined.

I went over to Sam's bed and gently pulled Dean away from him so I could hug my baby boy to my chest. Almost immediately, Sammy started screaming again.

"No," Sam wailed, to my heartbreak and horror. "I want Dean!"

The three words were more painful than a kick to my gut. They knocked the wind out of my lungs and left me gasping for air. To make matters worse Sam was struggling against me, pushing me away, determined to get back to Dean. Then the screaming started up again as Sammy hollered for the only true comforter he'd ever really had.

I resisted at first, thinking if I just held on to him he would settle down soon. Surely he would realise that even more than Dean, I could protect him from whatever had been terrorizing him in that dream.

But the delay only brought on louder cries and more spirited resistance.

"I want Dean," Sam bawled, twisting and turning to get out of my grasp.

Then Dean was shaking my shoulder, prodding me to grant to his little brother release.

"Give him to me Dad," he urged softly.

And that was when it struck me; that was exactly what I'd done the night of the fire; the night I became a single father. I had given Sam to Dean and I had never really taken him back.

So now, whenever Sammy was scared, hurt or sick, it was Dean he wanted. I shuddered as I realized that eight years after the fire, I was still wracking up losses.

When I didn't move and Sammy's cries grew louder Dean's tone became more urgent.

"Dad, let me take him."

I didn't want to let Sam go. I wanted to hold on to my youngest and ask him to forgive me for not being there for him all the other times he had cried. I wanted to hold my oldest and ask him to forgive me for leaving him to care for his little brother and leaving no one to care for him. But I had found myself in the unenviable position of being physically between my two sons when they wanted to be together. And I learnt that night that nothing could stand in between those boys, not even me.

A cavernous regret filled my soul as I released Sam and, once again, handed him over to his brother. Dean barely sat on the bed before Sam flung himself into Dean's arms and huddled against him shuddering.

"It was just a dream Sammy," Dean said softly, sounding confident because he knew exactly how to handle the situation. "I got you," Dean whispered, rocking his little brother like parenting was the most normal thing for a twelve year old boy.

I stood back and watched while Dean cared for Sam; whispering to him and hushing him until the tears subsided. Soon Sammy was yawning and his eyelids were drooping.

"Ready to go back to sleep?" Dean asked softly.

Sammy nodded, but he gripped the front of Dean's nightshirt, to let his brother know there would be no sleep if it meant separation.

"Stay?" he asked when Dean got up and started rearranging the blankets to tuck him in. In case Dean had any notion of resisting, Sam stretched out his arms for him. "Please?"

Sam needn't have worried. Dean never refused when his little brother needed to be close to him.

"Sure," Dean said easily, sliding under the covers beside Sam.

In a few moments they were settled; Dean with a protective arm wrapped around Sam who had tucked his head under Dean's chin.

An unbearable ache seared through heart while I watched my boys holding each other as they drifted off to sleep. I once thought I would never feel any pain as hard, as sharp or as deep as the pain I'd felt the night I lost Mary. But tonight I realized I was wrong.

I walked downstairs into Bobby's study and went immediately to his liquor cabinet. I push aside the cheap stuff and dug in the back where I knew he kept the Johnny Walker Blue. This wasn't a time for dime store whiskey. No, the night you realize you've totally blown it as a parent, only the very best will do. I poured a full glass, flung it back and then followed it up with another. While I was nursing my third helping I took the bottle back with me to the battered old sofa we often crashed on when we got wiped out from doing research. It was when I had dropped down on the couch and sat starring at the book shelves that I remembered the warning Bobby had given in this very room.

I put my whiskey down and approached the bookcase, curious to see if the parenting instruction manuals were still there. Not only did I see the ones Bobby had tried to give me but I was surprised to see he had added several more.

I picked up the stack of them and went back to the couch. The tingling in my head was telling me that the liquor was starting to take effect. To spur it on, I retrieved my glass and resumed my sipping in earnest and then began flipping bitterly through Bobby's little collection.

_"Solutions for the Single Father: How to stop feeling burdened and embrace the responsibility". _

I tossed that one to the floor immediately and took another gulp of whiskey. Truth is, without Mary's partnership some aspects of parenting were always going to feel like a burden.

_"The Boy Balance: Understanding your son's need for your affection." _

That one joined its predecessor in the pile at my feet as did the next two or three I looked at. Then I saw one of the originals that Bobby had given to me the night of our fateful conversation. _"Parental Bonding: Understanding your critical role in your child's life." _

I opened the now creased paperback and thumbed through the pages; stopping to read a few passages here and there. One section seemed to jump right out at me; the chapter entitled "Understanding the Parental Bond".

_"The Parental Bond is the deep attachment that a child develops for their parent during the first years of their lives. The Bond is the natural outcome of a healthy, nurturing, parent/child relationship which gives the child a strong sense of security and fosters the development of positive attributes. _

_Psychologists have established six criteria for a Parental Bond: _

_The connection between parent and child is persistent, not transitory._

_The relationship with the parent is emotionally significant to the child._

_The child wishes to maintain proximity or contact with the parent _

_The child feels sadness or distress at involuntary separation from the parent._

_The child seeks security and comfort in the relationship with the parent. _

_For the child, the parent is not interchangeable with anyone else."_

With shaking hands, I let the book fall shut. I didn't even have the strength to toss it away; all I could do was let it slip through my fingers and fall to the floor.

Every time Dean tucked Sam in instead of me, every time Dean nursed him through a sickness when I was too busy and every time Dean had been there to comfort him when he was crying, I'd lost another little piece of my baby boy.

And tonight, I'd seen plainly that my presence wasn't enough to reassure my youngest son; not when he was really hurt or frightened. And although he respected me too much to say it, my oldest knew that Dad wasn't up to the task so he had stood in the gap and got the job done.

At a time when I should have been the most significant figure in Sam's life I'd allowed him to replace me with Dean. So Sam had definitely formed a strong, deep, parental bond. But it wasn't with me, it was with his brother.

**THE END**

**A/N: **The physiological theory referred to in this story has its origins in fact but was heavily influenced by the author's creativity.

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Twenty chapters down and I hope twenty thousand more to come. Stay tuned...


	21. Men of Honor

**I Wish I Was Your Brother **

**A/N: **Anyone who's read my fics **"The Ivy League"** and **"Security Blanket"** knows that Season 8 has my muse doing the happy dance. Naturally I've been hoping to be able to incorporate some of what's been happening in the Season into this series.

Then, about a week ago I wrote a drabble called **"Only Child"** which was Kevin's perspective on how the trials were impacting both him and Sam. The big issue in that story was that Sam had Dean to support him and Kevin envied Sam because he was on his own. Almost immediately, I knew this was something to be explored in a longer piece and this series was the perfect backdrop for it.

As with all my Season 8 stories, I really enjoyed writing this fic. If you enjoy reading it even half as much then it will be worth it.

**A/N: **Much love to my awesome beta Ericka Jane who came through once again.

**A/N: **This is for Jedi Sapphire, my partner in crime for Season 8. Here's hoping we get to Season 80!

**A/N: **This is set at around 8:19 but I take liberties with canon and it's definitely before Kevin found out about his Mom.

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**- TWENTY ONE -**

**Men of Honor**

I was flat on my face, running on empty and ready to give up on the whole horrific ordeal of translating hell-gate-closing-tablets; but my partners were Sam and Dean Winchester. I found out the hard way that when it came to saving people's lives, the Winchesters never gave up on anything, especially each other.

When I decided to drop out, my timing couldn't have been worse. Unbeknownst to me, the whole nightmare had put Sam's life at risk. That meant that no matter how much I was suffering, if I wanted out, I'd have to go through Dean.

For several weeks that seemed too daunting to even contemplate, but when I reached the limit of my tolerance, I called him and requested an urgent meeting. I had never been totally comfortable with the whole prophet scenario but things were now out of control. I hadn't had a decent night's sleep in weeks, my appetite was non-existent, and every muscle and joint in my body was aching.

Then if it wasn't bad enough that I was deteriorating physically, my mind was giving out on me as well. Anxiety had me shaky and paranoid, stress had me ready to tear my hair out, and then with Crowley randomly turning up in my thoughts, I was ready to put a gun to my head.

On several occasions I had picked up the phone to call Sam and Dean to tell them I was quitting, but I kept wimping out at the last minute. This time though, I was determined to see things through.

It was several days after my phone call to Dean that he turned up at the rat hole I was living in.

"What took you so long?" I asked when he finally appeared.

"Sammy's sick and I couldn't leave him."

At that point, I figured Dean was just feeding me a line. Sam Winchester was a big hulk of man who was more than capable of taking care of himself. Obviously something else kept Dean away but whatever it was, it wasn't my business.

"And speaking of sick," Dean looked me up and down then shook his head. "You don't look so good yourself. Have you been eating?"

"Not much," I supplied, hoping to pave the way.

"Sleeping?"

"Very little," I added.

When Dean gave me a worried look I decided to use the opening.

"Actually that's what I wanted to talk to you about. I've had a rough few weeks, Dean, and I'm not sure I can keep going."

"Keep going with what?"

Dean's stern look almost had me on the back-foot. I'd met people with strong personalities before but when it came to hunting Dean was like a battering ram. With all of us neck-deep in these damn trials I knew he would be less than receptive to aborting the mission now.

However, I couldn't keep going just because I was afraid of a faceoff with Dean. My mental and physical health was deteriorating every day because I was living in constant fear and pain. Knowing I would crash and burn if I didn't get myself out of this situation, I summoned my courage and faced him.

"I can't keep going with the translations," I said softly with none of the resolve in my heart reflecting in my voice.

"So you need a break?" Dean asked.

_No!_ I wanted to scream. _I need for it to be over!_

When the words didn't come out, Dean assumed he was correct.

"I see where you're coming from," he admitted. "You've been at it non-stop since this whole thing started; you should probably take some time off."

Once again, the scream rose in my throat but choked itself down.

"OK," Dean went on when I failed to speak up again. "Grab a bag and throw a few things in it. I'm taking you outta here for a day or two. But we can't spear much more than that."

"Where are we going?" I asked, too damn compliant for my own good.

"Back to our place." Dean clapped his hands together. "You're probably gonna end up climbing the walls if you don't get a change of scenery. Come on, make it quick," he snapped when I hesitated. "I gotta get back to Sam."

To my shame, I had obeyed meekly and went with Dean. I consoled myself by reasoning that going back to his place would give me a better opportunity to have the dreaded conversation with him. Maybe getting out of my translation prison would bring a good night's sleep and ease some of this unending tension. And with a little peace and rest under my belt, I just might have the courage to actually look Dean Winchester is the face and tell him he and Sam were going to have to find a way to close the gates of hell without me.

When I got to the Winchester's place, I was immediately distracted. I'd heard Dean refer to it a few times as "The Batcave" and when I stepped inside I knew why. The place was stunning. The interior and furnishings screamed class and high taste, the library went on for miles and all of the common rooms looked like they'd been hand crafted for a king. At the same time, in the midst of the luxury, it was clearly a bunker; the weapons, gadgets and other equipment betrayed that it was built for business before pleasure.

The brothers had given me a brief rundown on the place once when they had come to check up on me. They'd told me about the Men of Letters and the family legacy they had stumbled on. Now that I was here, I realized it was impossible to be within these walls and not feel the weight of their history.

"Close your mouth," Dean said as I looked around gaping. "Pick a room and get comfortable. The last one on the left belongs to me but I'm bunking with Sammy until he gets better, he's in the master suite."

Even when Dean told me that, it didn't occur to me that something might be seriously wrong with Sam. It should have set off an alarm bell because, in what now seemed like another life, my Mom used to stay in my room with me whenever I was really sick. She always said she wanted to be close by if I needed anything. But although I thought it was weird that Dean was sleeping in his brother's room, I figured it certainly wasn't my business. In fact I thought it might be a good thing that Sam was out of commission because at least then he couldn't join forces with Dean to hound me into finishing the translation.

So when we got back to the house and Dean said I shouldn't disturb Sam because he needed his rest, I willingly complied. As soon as I chose a room, I stretched out on the bed and crashed. However, sleeping for the entire day meant that I found myself awake just after midnight. When I couldn't go back to sleep I decided to have a look around the bunker.

All was quiet when I stepped out of my room so I figured Sam and Dean were sleeping. Moving quietly I scoped out a few of the bedrooms then I went to the library where I made a big discovery. Hidden behind a huge, life-sized portrait of a fierce looking old man was a door that led to what I can only describe as a control room. At a wide console there were several TV screens which seemed to show the house from every internal and external angle. Fascinated by all the knobs and buttons and switches, I sat in one of the chairs behind the table and began fiddling around. It was a surveillance system on steroids, specially designed to give whoever was in this room complete visibility of the house.

I turned a knob and the view on the main screen changed from the library to one of the empty bedrooms. I kept turning, watching as each room in the house came temporarily into view. When I saw the room I had slept in with the empty bed strewn with crumpled sheets, an uneasy feeling came over me. Someone could easily have been watching me while I was in there. Playing a bit with some of the controls I found a dial that allowed me to zoom in on my bed. I marveled at the capabilities of the system. The Men of Letters meant business.

Another turn of the knob and a huge, well outfitted bedroom came into view. I realized it was the master suite when I caught sight of Dean and Sam. I meant to keep changing channels but something about their positioning caught my attention. Sam was in a king sized bed propped up against the headboard with layers of blankets practically up to his chin. Dean was sitting on the bed facing him, holding up a cup so Sam could sip from a straw. Curious as to why the hell Dean was feeding his brother, I zoomed in.

I actually gasped out loud when I saw Sam. Whatever he was sick with it, it definitely wasn't the flu. His skin was pallid, his face looked hollow and there were shadows under his eyes. I realized that I could also hear what was going on in the rooms when Sam started coughing and the sound came at me through speakers built into the console. The cough was also cause for concern. The wracking congestion sounded as if Sam was operating with a fraction of his lung capacity.

Fascinated, I watch as Dean brought a hand to Sam's chest and rubbed gently trying to quell the coughing.

"I'm OK, Dean," Sam wheezed, when the hacking finally subsided.

If I didn't know better I'd swear Dean was with someone else. That soft, weak voice couldn't possibly be coming from Sam Winchester. What the hell had happened to him?

"You're not OK, Sam," Dean insisted, somehow managing to sound gentle although he was clearly ticked off. "Don't pretend for my sake."

"I'm not pretending," Sam tried to argue, but in my view, his trembling voice betrayed any argument he could try to make.

"Yes you are," Dean stood firm. "So try telling me the truth."

"The truth is, I'm worried about you," Sam confessed.

My breath all but stopped in my throat. Sam was the one who looked like he was a step away from a coma and he was worried about Dean.

"You're putting too much pressure on yourself over all this," he continued.

"Don't worry about me, Sammy," Dean raised the cup and angled the straw so Sam could sip again. "You need to focus on getting better."

When Sam was finished drinking, Dean used a hand towel to dab his face. I blinked twice to wake myself up from what had to be a dream. Dean Winchester, the most lethal hunter I knew, was playing nursemaid and looking damn near proficient at it. It seemed the man, who could behead a demon with one swing of a blade, had a serious soft spot when it came to his little brother.

"I'm getting there, Dean," Sam insisted but his trembling voice was a dead giveaway. "Can we focus on you for a second please?"

Now I was left wondering if Sam's illness was causing delirium. Dean was right; a man in Sam's condition should be more concerned about himself.

"I'm good, Sammy," Dean reassured. "Trust me."

"No you're not, Dean; you're beating up on yourself. And don't try to deny it; I know when you get like that. Whatever it is that you're kicking yourself for, just let it go."

"I can't, Sammy," now Dean's voice was sounding shaky as well. "I was a damn fool to ever let you do these trials. It's my fault that this happened to you."

The surge in my heart almost knocked the wind out of me. The trials had done this to Sam! It took several deep breaths for me to steady myself and refocus on the Winchesters' conversation.

"Dean, I was the one who said I wanted to do it."

"And I should have done what I always do; ignore you and do it my way."

"It wouldn't have worked this time. There was no way I was going to let you do these trials."

"You wouldn't have been able to stop me."

"I would have." Sam said. And even with the weakness in his voice I knew he meant it. "I would never have let you go through with it because I was too scared of what you'd do."

"I've been at this hunting game a little longer than you, Sammy; I think I can handle myself."

"No," Sam was clearly getting upset. "You would have sacrificed yourself and I'm not prepared to lose you."

Dean breathed out hard. "What makes you think this is better, Sam? You think I'm prepared to lose you?"

Stalemate, I thought to myself as the brothers glared at each other.

Sam blinked first. He pulled up his covers and turned away from Dean.

Frustrated, Dean ran a hand through his hair and bowed his head.

"Look, Sammy," he said after a few moments. "I'm sorry."

He placed a tentative hand on his little brother's shoulder and the contact was all Sam needed. He rolled back over to look up at Dean and damn if Sam didn't look like a scared little boy.

"I don't wanna fight with you," he whispered.

"We're not fighting," Dean said softly; and I couldn't get over how gentle he sounded. "We're arguing. We've been doing that since you learned to talk and had an answer for everything."

Sam snickered. "That's only because I was always trying to impress my big brother."

"That's exactly what I mean," Dean grinned and smoothed back Sam's hair. "You always have a comeback."

Still stunned by the discovery that Dean Winchester was a coddler, I watched the display of affection with a mixture of wonder and disbelief.

"I keep telling you to let me cut this mop," he said, affectionately, fighting a losing battle to tuck the shaggy strands behind his little brother's ears.

"It's fine," Sam insisted softly, obviously comforted by the TLC.

"Whatever, Fabio," Dean shrugged but the teasing brush off would have been more convincing if he hadn't let his hand linger on Sam's cheek. "Anyway, you need to get your rest."

"Are you leaving?" Sam asked and if I couldn't see that it was him in that bed I would have sworn it was a ten year old.

"No," Dean reassured. Obviously he was moved by how much his brother seemed to need him because that emotional little quiver was back in his voice.

"Good," was all Sam managed to say before a fresh round of coughing cut him off.

This time the hacking was so deep that he pitched forward holding his chest. Dean immediately moved closer and reached out trying to sooth him. But the gesture was useless as the desperate guttural coughing only seemed to get worse. Then the wheezing and the heaving started filling the control room with a desperate, awful sound.

When I couldn't stand it any longer I flicked the power switch on the console, and got the hell back to my own room. I locked myself in and began pacing in panic and confusion.

Now I was more resolved than ever to get myself out of this mess. Whatever was happening with the trials was literally eating away at Sam, just like it had started to affect me. And if I continued, I could well end up like him. The signs were there with the aches and pains and the paranoia much-less the fact that I didn't even have a passing interest in food. How long would it be before I got really sick?

The worse thing was I'd be all by myself. I didn't have a big brother to care for me; I would have to suffer alone the way I had been since I was locked away with that damn tablet.

That was another thing that was killing me. We were all in this crap but at least Sam and Dean had each other; I was on my own. When I had doubts there was no one to reassure me that I was doing the right thing. Or when I felt scared, there was no one to tell me that it was going to be OK.

And how exactly did I come to be involved in this whole damn fiasco anyway? Sam and Dean were the special ones with the unique legacy. They were the descendants of the Men of Letters and part of the most exclusive group of hunters. I didn't share their history or their bond and I certainly wasn't part of their elite team of two. As far as I was concerned the Winchesters were the ones who needed to sort this wreck out. I was getting out of this nightmare while I still had time.

My sleep was restless and fitful that night but I woke up from it even more resolved to submit my resignation. As soon as I got dressed I went straight out to the study to wait for Dean. When he emerged from Sam's room he looked tired and disheveled; obviously it had been a rough night but that wasn't my concern.

"We need to talk," I said rising to meet him.

"Not now," he stepped past me and headed to the kitchen.

I followed him, determined to stay my course.

"By the way," Dean addressed me without even so much as glancing over his shoulder. "You're still looking rough. The cupboard over there has every med known to man, take whatever you need, you gotta be in tip top shape for what's to come."

Here I was getting sicker and sicker and all that merited was a terse order to dose up with medicine. I guess Dean Winchester's nurturing side was reserved exclusively for his little brother.

"This is why we need to talk," I tried to make my voice more insistent.

It didn't work.

"I said, not now."

"This can't wait," I pushed.

"It has to," Dean ignored me and began pulling fruits and vegetables out of the fridge. "I gotta fix something for Sammy."

I watched in silence as he took one of those bullet juicers down from a cupboard and began slicing up ingredients.

"What's that for?" I asked, apprehensively.

"He's not doing so well with solids so I've been giving him juice."

"Why didn't you tell me how sick he was, Dean?" I had to ask.

"I don't discuss my brother with anyone."

"Why didn't you tell me it's the trials that are making him sick?"

"Because it's none of your damn business."

"Oh that's right; I'm not a superior brand of hunter like you and Sam. I'm not a Winchester so you two don't have to tell me anything. I'm just the nerd who you've locked in a damn hell hole to do your dirty work."

The words flicked the switch on Dean's legendary temper sparking a lethal flame in his eyes as he turned on me.

"Don't you dare speak to me about dirty work, you self-righteous moron. My little brother is fighting for his life because of these trials so if anyone should be complaining about his role in all of this, it's him."

"Sam isn't the only one who's suffering here, Dean. I've been getting sicker and sicker and it's scaring me."

"Man up, you damn wimp," Dean yelled slamming a measuring cup down on the counter. "A few sleepless nights and a little flu is nothing compared to what's happening to my brother."

"And I'm sure Sam didn't start out like that. He's probably just gotten worse over time. Dean, I'm scared if I don't pull out now I'm only going to go downhill from here."

"Well I'm convinced that somewhere in all these translations we'll find what we need to make Sam better, so you can't stop until we get to the end."

"And if we don't find it, then what?"

"We'll find it. So you just focus on deciphering what that last trial is and stop thinking you can just cut and run."

"_I have to_," I shrilled. "_Or I'll end up like Sam! _"

The truth hung in the air between us like an overbearing stench. But now that it was finally out, there was no turning back.

"You selfish bastard. Think about someone other than yourself for one moment."

"No, you think about someone other than your brother. Sam isn't the only one at risk here; I'm getting worse every day."

The fury that was blazing across Dean's face had me ready to run for what was left of my pathetic life.

"When you can't keep food down and you're in so much pain that it makes you cry, then you might have a point; but until that time you better keep working on that translation."

"**I SAID NO!**" I screamed, finally allowing my pent up frustration to overflow. "Sam has you to take care of him; I have to take care of myself. And that means not waiting until I end up like him."

In one swift move Dean had me backed up against the kitchen wall. He pinned me by the throat to deliver a chilling warning.

"If you try to walk out and leave my brother like this I will hunt you down like a dog and by the time I'm finished with you, you'll be begging to do the translations."

I realized I was looking into the eyes of a man who desperate enough to kill me and I couldn't stand the sight. Squeezing my eyes shut, I began praying for my life.

"Dean!"

The cry came from Sam's room and the distressed tone clearly signaled it was an SOS. In less than a second, Dean forgot that he was threatening to kill me and took off towards the sound.

Without thinking I ran after him but once he turned into the room, he slammed the door behind him. Winchester territory had been marked out and strangers couldn't cross the line.

But technology was on my side so I rushed to the control room to see what was going on. When the master suite came up on the console's main screen, I could see Sam was in distress. He was gasping hard like he couldn't get enough air into his lungs while Dean sat facing him making a deliberate effort to keep calm.

"Just breathe Sammy," Dean coaxed, gently rubbing his brother's shoulders. "Just take it easy."

When Sam's panicked gasps accelerated, Dean never lost his cool. "All you have to do is listen to your big brother kiddo," he coached softly. "Just breathe in and out,"

"Can't," Sam wheezed, looking desperately into his brother's eyes.

"You know I'm not buying that," Dean said easily, pushing Sam's hair back from his face. "How many times have you said that before and I always prove you wrong. Just breathe."

Sam followed the instructions and gradually his breathing started to even out. Exhausted and no doubt relieved, he dropped his head against his brother's chest.

"It's OK," Dean whispered, easily pulling him into a hug. "I got you."

I studied Dean's face as he held on to his brother. He was clearly relieved but his features were also clouded with fear. The calm demeanor he was exhibiting only a few moments earlier had been for Sam's benefit; Dean was seriously worried about his brother's condition.

The extended length of time Sam stayed resting against Dean told me that neither of them felt weird or awkward about hugging like that.

God help me, but I envied Sam. We were both feeling the physical and psychological effects of this ordeal but he had Dean to get him through it. There wasn't a person alive who didn't want someone to hug them when they felt like crap. And even in the midst of this living hell, Sam still had that. The whole situation sucked, anyway you looked at it, but I still thought Sam was a lucky man.

"Better?" Dean asked when Sam finally eased back from him.

"Yeah," Sam nodded. "Thanks."

"If you really want to pay me back, eat some breakfast."

"I'm really not hungry, Dean," Sam protested leaning back against his mountain of pillows.

"Well this is a liquid breakfast, so no hunger's required."

Sam started to object but his brother cut him off.

"If you won't do it for yourself at least do it for me."

"Touché."

Taking the response for compliance, Dean disappeared from the view of the camera and returned a few minutes later with a large glass of thick red liquid. When Sam downed it, Dean offered water as a chaser.

With breakfast out of the way, Dean began fluffing the pillows and pulling up the sheets around his brother.

"Back to sleep," he ordered. "Those asthma attacks, or whatever the hell they are, always leave you exhausted."

"You need to rest too," Sam pleaded. "I know you don't sleep much when you stay with me and it's starting to show on you."

"Well, I'm not letting you stay alone so if that's where you're going with this you can quit while you're ahead."

"I don't want you to go but at least lie down beside me and take a nap."

"I will, as soon as I'm sure that you're resting OK."

"Dean..."

"That's the deal Sammy, take it or leave it."

"OK," Sam conceded pouting slightly.

"Don't even try that," Dean said, smoothing down the sheets. "The whole brat routine doesn't work on me when you're sick."

"That's because if I even get the sniffles you shift into this mode."

"What mode?"

"Part caregiver, part dictator."

Dean appeared to consider then agree. "It gets the job done."

In spite of himself, Sam snickered. "Ever since I was six months old," he conceded.

"So let's not mess with a good thing," Dean patted his shoulder. "Sleep time."

Sam turned on his side and looked over at this brother. "You realize you've been taking care of me all my life?"

"Yeah," Dean tried to sound casual. "Who else was gonna do it?"

"It's not just that you did it Dean; it's how. I always felt ... cared for."

"Good," Dean said dismissively, seemingly ready to put an end to this line of discussion.

Sam, however, was not going to be put off.

"I always felt loved."

I swallowed hard. The conversation was getting intense but yet it was still so compelling. The Winchesters, two of the meanest, baddest men I knew, both had a major weakness; each other.

It seems I wasn't the only one who felt uncomfortable because Dean was looking anywhere but at his brother.

"Come on Sammy, you don't have to say that."

"Yes I do," Sam insisted; and his voice may have been shaking but I could hear his conviction. "I don't know that I've ever said thank you for all the times you took care of me when I was sick, or hurt, or when I just needed someone to be there for me. So I'm saying it now. Thank you, Dean."

"I don't wanna hear it," Dean hissed, angrily.

The sudden change of tone caught both me and Sam off guard.

"Why not?" Sam asked, his voice cracking. "Dean, when I look back over my life, the only thing that's been constant is you. You were always there for me and I never would have come this far without you."

"Knock it off!" Dean shouted. "Just shut up with all the damn crap."

Sam's eyes widened with shock and then clouded with hurt making him seem hopelessly defenseless.

"Sorry," he mumbled practically recoiling from his brother.

To my absolute shock it was Dean who broke. He breathed out hard and covered his face with his hands.

"No, Sammy," he whispered after taking a few seconds to compose himself. "I'm the one who's sorry. I just can't..."

"Dean," Sam reached out to cover his brother's hand with his. "Tell me what's wrong."

For several moments, Dean's only response was deep struggling breaths.

"When you talk like that Sammy it sounds like goodbye," Dean's voice was so low I had to strain to catch the words. "It's like you're trying to tell me this now in case you're not around anymore."

"Dean," Sam warned gently.

"I don't want to hear it," Dean cut him off. "Not now. You can thank me when we're both so old all we want is Ben Gay for our knees and batteries for our hearing aids."

"Even if we weren't hunters we have no guarantee that we'll get there Dean, so I need you to know this now."

"OK, maybe we won't make it to the old folk's home but I'm sure as hell not going to lose you to these damn trials. And if that little nerd Kevin thinks he can punk out on us then he's got another thing coming."

"Kevin? What's up with him?"

"The damn jerk is acting like a baby and saying he wants out."

"Out of what?"

"Of the translations," Dean said as if the very thought was unthinkable.

"What?" Sam sat up suddenly. "If he quits now we have no hope of finishing the trials."

"Don't worry your overgrown head about that, little brother. He's going to finish the translation even if I have to tie him up and put a gun to his head to get him to do it."

Sam's heavy sigh was heart-wrenching to hear.

"He wants to quit?" he said, incredulously.

"I said don't worry about it."

Sam sat silently, apparently considering the scenario.

"Can you really blame him, Dean?" he said softly. "I'm sure it's got to be hard for him. He's supposed to be at college either wracking his brain to get A's or boozing up at frat parties. Instead he's mixed up in a tug-of-war between heaven and hell."

"Well cry me a river. None of that is anything compared to what you're going through. And if he tries to wimp out so help me god, I'm gonna torture him 'til he does the translation _and then _I'm gonna kill him."

"Dean, if he doesn't want to do it you can't force him. It's his choice."

"He doesn't get a choice, Sammy, we didn't and neither does he."

"That's where you're wrong," Sam said reasonably. "We did get a choice Dean; and we chose to do the right thing."

Sam's words slammed me like a blow to my stomach.

"I know what you're saying, Sammy, I do; but when I see you looking so weak and sick I wish we had never gotten involved with any of this."

"Who else would do this, Dean? Who else knows what we know? Who else has the responsibility of this legacy?"

"To hell with the damn legacy," Dean hissed. "All that means is that we're the ones who always have to put it all on the line. We're talking about closing the gates of hell and we're the only ones who have any skin in the game. What the hell did Kevin really risk in all this; an Ivy League education? You're risking your life; and I'm ... I'm risking my brother."

If I hadn't been seated my knees would have folded under me. What had I really given up; an education that I could always go back to? How had I really suffered; some aches and pains or sleepless nights from anxiety? How did that really compare to the agony Sam was enduring or the anguish Dean was experiencing at having to stand by and watch?

Sam held Dean by his shoulders so he could look him in the eye. "We're Winchesters, Dean. And we will always put it all on the line because that's who we are."

My knees didn't give way but the rest of me did. I slumped forward onto the console table and bawled like the immature brat the Winchesters now knew I was.

I cried for Sam who had been through hell but was still willing to see this whole fiasco through to the end. I cried for Dean who would have gladly changed places with his brother knowing full well that meant he would have to be the one in pain. And I cried for myself. Tears of shame and embarrassment that the one chance I had to do something meaningful with my life, I'd been too selfish to think about anyone but myself.

Almost an hour later Dean emerged from Sam's room. When he did, he found me sitting at the dining table. My bag was packed and I was dressed and ready to leave.

"I called Garth," I said before he could speak. "I asked him to come and get me. I figured you wouldn't want to leave Sam."

"I don't," Dean admitted.

"It's time I get back to work so we can finish this thing once and for all."

The stunned relief on Dean's face almost made my decision worth it, but the real satisfaction would come when we figured out how to help Sam.

"And just for the record," I pre-empted Dean once again. "This has nothing to do with you threatening to kill me. You and Sam deserve better than a wingman who quits in the last ten seconds of the game."

Dean closed his eyes and breathed out hard.

"Thank you," he whispered, sounding like a drowning man who had been thrown a lifeline.

"Don't mention it," I said, trying to sound light. "I may not be a Man of Letters but I can still be a man."

"And a damn good one," Dean said slapping my shoulder.

By the time Garth arrived, I was more than ready to go but when I walked out to his car I had to I stop and look at the Batcave one more time. I could hardly think of a more fitting home for the Winchesters and I certainly didn't know any men who were more worthy of the legacy those two had inherited.

As I looked at the unassuming building that was a bastion of history, tradition and nobility, a deep sense of longing came over me. For one, brief, wistful moment I wished that I could have been part of the Winchester's inner circle. I wondered what it would be like, if even for a second I could be the third man on their team. What would it be like if I wasn't a sidekick, but an equal and it was Sam, Dean and Kevin?

Almost immediately, I dismissed that notion. There was no use yearning. It would never be Sam, Dean and anyone. It would always be just Sam and Dean.

**THE END**

* * *

There's much more to come, so hang on for the ride.


	22. Surrogate

**I Wish I Was Your Brother**

**Author's Notes:** Although it's set afterwards, the events in this story were triggered by occurrences in Season 7:3, "The Girl Next Door" where Dean kills Sam's friend Amy, the Kitsune, and Season 7:6 "Slash Fiction" when Sam finds out.

Thanks, as always to my incredible Beta, Ericka Jane.

* * *

**- TWENTY TWO -**

**Surrogate**

I know that sibling relationships are often layered and generally complicated, and can rarely be taken at face value. However nothing could have prepared me for the multi-faceted, complexly intricate bond between Sam and Dean Winchester.

When I met Dean, he was pretty dejected, ostensibly because he'd just split up with his brother. He said the separation was a huge blow because they'd been on the road together for most of their adult life. I never bought that story. Instead I figured, from the way he was reeling he was on the rebound from a woman.

It wasn't until I met Sam, that I understood how wrong I had been. But by then it was too late.

* * *

The story starts somewhere in the middle, when I decided I had to find Dean. I actually scrolled past his number on my phone several times before I had the courage to press the button and call. My heart was racing so hard as I waited for him to answer, that it's difficult to determine if I was relieved or disappointed when I heard an unfamiliar male voice on the other end of the line.

"I'm trying to reach Dean Winchester," I explained, making an effort to at least sound composed.

"Who is this?"

"My name is Lily Scott. This is the number I have for Dean; is he still using this phone?"

"No."

"Well, do you know where I can reach him? It's very important."

"What's this about?"

"Who is this?"

"Someone who knows Dean."

"So can you give me his new number, then?"

"First I'd like to know why you need to see him."

"Excuse me," I said, growing annoyed at the interrogation. "That's between me and Dean."

"No," the voice countered calmly. "I'm between you and Dean. So you can tell me what you need to see him for or we can end this call right now."

Whoever it was on the other end, he was definitely holding the handle. So that meant I had to try another angle.

"I have something that belongs to him," I stated, trying to keep my voice cool and casual.

"And what might that be?" the gatekeeper didn't sound impressed.

"Are you familiar with James Bond?" I asked coyly. "This is for Dean's eyes only."

The silence that followed lasted too long for my liking but the ball was in the gatekeeper's court.

"Listen," the man finally said. "I can't give you Dean's number but I can tell you where to find him."

I didn't like how this scenario was shaping up, but I was pretty desperate to see Dean and this was my only link. So when the stranger recited the address I dutifully wrote it down.

The location was a bunkhouse in the neighboring state. The best route I could find online meant almost a full day of driving. I wasn't crazy about a long road trip but I needed to see Dean as soon as possible. So I tossed a few things in an overnight bag and hit the highway.

The bunkhouse may as well have been called 'drifters condominium'. From the onset I could tell it was a holding cell for people who had nowhere to go. The man behind the counter in the 'lobby' didn't even make eye contact; he just pointed to a room down the corridor after I asked him for Dean.

When the room door opened, I was tempted to run in the opposite direction. I found myself facing a very tall man with an unshaven face and overgrown brown hair.

"I'm sorry," I said quickly. "I must have the wrong room."

"Lily?" he asked, stopping me in my tracks as I was stepping away.

"Yes?" I looked at the man again, this time with renewed interest but with no less apprehension.

"Come in please."

I've lived long enough to know you never go into a motel room with a complete stranger and worse with one who hadn't had a shave or a haircut within the last decade.

"Are you the person I spoke to on the phone?" I asked, remaining on my side of the threshold and readying myself to run if the need arose.

"Yes."

"So where's Dean?" I asked backing away.

If this was trap to kidnap me and sell me into some kind of slavery, my god I wouldn't go without a fight.

"That depends," the stranger said. "What do you need to see him for?"

"Look, Mister," I warned. "I've been driving for hours and I'm in no mood to play games."

"Neither am I," he said evenly. "I just need to know what you have that belongs to Dean."

"I have nothing to say to you, I need to speak with Dean. So just tell me where he is so I can find him."

"I'm afraid I have some very bad news, Lily," the man said, his face contorting with anguish. "Dean is dead."

The words were barely out of his mouth before my knees gave way.

* * *

For all my apprehension I ended up alone in a motel room with the stranger. He managed to break my fall when I swooned and then he gathered me up and gently deposited me on one of the double beds in the ten by ten square he was inhabiting.

Whoever he was, he seemed to have some form of first aid training because smelling sauce was quickly brought into play, and then as soon as I could see straight again he was offering me a bottle of water.

Helpless, I accepted and sipped nervously.

"Who are you?" I asked when my head cleared and I caught my breath.

"My name is Sam Winchester," he replied pulling up a chair to sit across from me. "Dean was my brother."

Was, it sounded surreal.

Dean was dead.

"How?"

"An accident."

"When?"

"About a month ago."

"No," I shook my head and covered my eyes against the tears. "No, no, no!"

I looked up at Sam and saw the grief I was feeling in my heart, reflected in his eyes but in multiple quantities. It may have been a month but it seemed his pain was still fresh.

Dean was dead.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, wiping my face with my hands.

Sam reached over to one of the bedside tables and pulled several tissues out of a box.

"Thanks," I said. "I'm sorry. I just ... this is a lot to take in."

"I know," he whispered, looking a little more frightened than someone his size had any right to be. "I still find it hard to believe. Do you mind if I ask how you know him?"

I guess I'd have to answer that question sooner or later.

"We met a few months back," I sighed. "He was staying in my town for a few weeks and we became ... friends."

"Oh," Sam's knowing look left no doubt that he understood the nature of the friendship.

After a long awkward silence, I got to my feet. There was nothing more for me to do here. "I'd better get going."

Sam stood as well. "You mentioned that you had something that belongs to Dean, if you don't mind, whatever it is, I'd like to have it."

That left me stumped.

"I'm sorry," I said once again. "But that's between me and Dean."

And Dean was dead.

The crushing look of disappointment on Sam's face had me striding for the door.

"I'm sorry to have bothered you," I mumbled. "And I'm really sorry about Dean."

I almost made it out but the realization of what I'd learned in this dingy little room gripped me like a vice and a fresh round of tears came flooding out.

"Please," Sam appealed coming towards me. "If you have anything of Dean's I'd like to have it."

If only it were that simple.

"I have to go," I sobbed, making a second attempt to reach the door.

Sam was there ahead of me, using his body to seal off my escape route. Standing in front of me, he looked at least seven feet tall, with a chest that spanned the width of the doorframe. If this man wanted to trap me in this room there was nothing I could do it about.

But that didn't mean I was going to roll over and die.

"Get out of my way," I warned, meaning to sound menacing but not managing to keep the panic out of my voice.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he tried to reassure me. "I just need to know what you wanted with Dean."

"That's my business," I shrilled giving up all hope of intimidating the giant. "Now let me out or I'll start screaming."

Those seemed to be the magic words because he stepped away from the threshold.

"I'm sorry," he said when I rushed to leave.

I made it to the door and I should have kept moving but for reasons unknown to me I stopped and looked back at Dean's brother.

I will never know what motivated me to open my mouth, but before I knew it, the words were coming out.

"I'm carrying Dean's child," I whispered looking into his troubled eyes.

With one long stride he returned to his position between me and the door.

I was trapped again.

* * *

I recognized the emotions reflecting in Sam's sharp features, because I'd felt them all at some point since discovering I was pregnant. The joy of something so miraculous, the fear and uncertainty about the implications and now the piercing grief of knowing that the other person involved would not be around to appreciate it.

"You're going to have Dean's baby?" he asked, suddenly looking like a little boy as his eyes filled with wonder and awe.

Although I was not in the business of confiding in strangers, I was moved to caution him about jumping to conclusions.

"I said, I'm carrying his child," I clarified.

It took several moments for the implications of my phrasing to translate; but as soon as it became clear to Sam his eyes flared with anger.

"You're not planning to have the baby?"

"I don't know what I plan on doing," I said as the fear and confusion that had been haunting me since I saw the positive sign on the pregnancy test resurfaced with a vengeance.

"But you want to have the baby," Sam coaxed, his tone signaling his disapproval of any other course of action.

"I said I don't know."

"But it's Dean's child," he argued, as if that made all the difference in the world. "You have the only part of my brother that's left."

The realization had me covering my stomach possessively.

"Lily," Sam pleaded moving towards me. "Tell me you want to have this child."

"Have it and then what?" I cried. "I'm in my third year of college, and I'm on track to graduate with a 4.0 GPA. I'm looking at Harvard Med School next year. The last thing I expected at this point in my life was to get pregnant."

"So you're going to have an abortion?"

"I don't know what I'm going to do," I said shifting so I didn't have to look at him. "But I certainly don't owe you an explanation."

A tense silence hung between us while I contemplated how to extricate myself from this argument. No one could understand the fear and anxiety I'd felt since I found out I was going to have a baby. And there was no way to express my feelings without sounding cold or selfish.

"If there's one thing I've learnt in my life it's how to read people," Sam began in a reasonable tone. "I can look at person's actions and get some idea about their motivation. Now if you were totally convinced that the best thing to do was to have an abortion you would have just gone ahead and done it and not said anything to anyone. But you went out of your way to look for Dean to tell him you were pregnant, which means somewhere in the back of your mind you were hoping for some kind of future with him, and somewhere deep inside you wanted to keep this baby."

"You may be right," I conceded angrily. "But all that proves is that I was suffering from some kind of temporary insanity. I don't know what I was thinking chasing after Dean. When I met him I thought he was on the rebound but he gave me some cock and bull story about falling out with his brother, I guess he meant you. Then after we were together for a few weeks he said you called and wanted to patch things up, but I just assumed he'd gone back to whoever had broken up with him before he met me."

"That wasn't a story; we did split up a few months ago. He did something that I felt like I couldn't forgive him for and we had a huge fight. But once I cooled down and he apologized it was all good again."

"Well whatever happened, I only had a few weeks with him so it was stupid of me to think that there was any future in that. But I guess on some level I wanted him to know that I... that he ..." I faltered again and took several seconds to catch my breath. "Anyway, I was only being naive and stupid. I'm sorry to have bothered you with all of this. I'm sure it's the last thing you were expecting."

"Lily."

"I'm sorry, Sam, I really have to go."

"Wait. Give me a minute, please."

I didn't have a minute as far as I was concerned. I wanted to just run from this place, get back to my motel room and crawl into bed. Maybe if I slept for a year I would wake up and this would all have been a bad dream.

"Talk quick," I warned.

"You may not want this baby, but I do."

* * *

"Are you out of your mind?" It was all I could think to ask when I heard the absurd utterance.

"No," Sam's eyes were sharp as granite. "I don't think you really want to have an abortion. So if you have the baby, I'll take it."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"It makes perfect sense."

"To you maybe, you're not the one who has to do the hard work in all of this."

"On the contrary, you'd only be having the child; I'd be raising it so I'd say I'll end up doing my share of the heavy lifting."

"You think this is some kind of business arrangement? What the hell am I a breeding machine?"

"Hardly. But you're carrying my brother's baby and I'm not prepared to let that die too."

"You don't have any say in this matter."

"You're right," he said, his voice losing its force. "That's why I'm going to beg you. No one has to know about it, if you don't want them to. We can do it in secret."

"In secret?" I echoed, totally confused.

"Yes," he looked down at my stomach. "How far along are you?"

"More than three months," I revealed, before I knew what I was saying.

"And you're not even showing," Sam seemed satisfied at the fact. "You can finish this semester in school and then take a leave of absence."

"And what would I tell my family?"

"Tell them that you're doing a research program abroad. Or that you're doing some kind of student exchange. If they think you're out of the country, no one will expect to see you for a couple months."

His audacity left me speechless; but the plotting had him on a roll.

"Once you have the baby you can pick up where you left off, and no one has to know."

"You're crazy!"

"Am I? I think I've just found the best way for you out of your dilemma."

"I never asked for your help. You think it's so easy to just lie to everyone and then give up my child?"

"Is it easier to lie to them about an abortion?"

The question left me speechless again.

"You obviously don't want to fess up to your family about your pregnancy, but it doesn't sound like you have the stomach to terminate it."

"So I get to sooth my conscience and keep my pride if I have the baby, and give it to you. What do you think I am some damn incubator?"

"Look, I know this isn't easy for you but I want this child. It's a chance for me to at least keep a part of my brother with me."

Now I was ten miles beyond peeved that this stranger thought he could make life changing decisions for me. What kind of maniac could cook up such a huge deception at the drop of a hat?

"OK listen up," I yelled stepping towards him. "My child cannot be a substitute for your dead brother. Now get out of my way or I'll scream bloody murder."

He stepped aside instantly and I went through the door before he changed his mind and forced me to stay.

"Lily," he said as I stepped out into the corridor.

"What?" I asked, barely pausing to look back.

"You don't have to remind me that Dean is dead. It's the first thing on my mind when I wake up and the last thing I think about before I go to sleep. But that child you're carrying is all that's left of him and if you kill it, you may as well kill me too."

* * *

I had run off like a mad woman, desperate to put distance between myself and the schemes and pleas of Sam Winchester. I drove back to my motel like the devil was after me, locked myself in my room and bawled.

After a solid half hour of weeping I heard a soft knock on my door. When I looked through the peephole and saw it was Sam I wanted to run again.

"Go away," I shouted backing up from the door.

"Lily, I just wanna talk."

I kept the chain on but pulled the door open.

"I've got nothing to say to you," I told him through the crack.

"I'm really sorry about earlier," he said. "I know I probably came over like some crazy person but please give me a chance to explain."

Although Sam Winchester seemed like a really strange character there was actually nothing menacing about him, so I let him in.

I noted he'd made an effort to shave, brush back his hair and make himself seem a little less unkempt. But the worn flannel shirt and battered jeans told me that his appearance was obviously not a huge priority at this point. On top of that, from seeing the way his clothes were hanging on him, I guessed he'd had some involuntary weight loss recently. The stress of grief and mourning was telling on this man.

"I'm sorry if I freaked you out earlier," he said when I stepped back from the door to let him in.

"As things go it was a pretty strange encounter," I agreed, keeping my guard up.

"I realize that, I said everything the wrong way, and I'd appreciate it if you'd give me a chance to explain where I'm coming from."

His eyes radiated sincerity, winning him the benefit of the doubt.

"Have a seat," I gestured to the guest chair, while I sat on the bed.

"I think we got off on the wrong foot," he began. "I'm not sure how well you knew Dean but he was closest person in the world to me."

"I think I get that," I nodded.

"I'm glad you do because sometimes, when I try to talk about Dean I don't know if I really do him justice. My mother died when I six months old. My father, he cared, but his work kept him distracted. It was Dean who really raised me from I was a baby."

"Wait a minute," I cut in. "He's not that much older than you."

"Four years," Sam said.

"And he's been taking care of you since you were six months old; he was only a kid himself."

"That's what I'm saying. He sacrificed his own childhood to be whatever I needed. There were so many things he missed out on because he made me his top priority. He wasn't just my big brother; in every way that mattered he was my mother and my father."

"He did try to come over like a tough guy at first," I reminisced, leaning back against the bed head. "But he was soft and caring underneath all that bravado."

"He was a nurturer," Sam smiled and for a few wonderful seconds the sadness disappeared from his eyes. "When we were kids he was the one who cared for me when I sick and comforted me whenever I was afraid. And he never did admit it, but deep down he loved giving affection as much as I loved getting it."

I closed my eyes for a moment remembering the warmth of Dean's embraced. Whenever he'd pulled me into his arms I always felt like nothing in the world could harm me.

"And he didn't just coddle me," Sam went on. "We had more fights than I care to remember, but he'd never let anyone hurt me. He protected me in all kinds of situations that people wouldn't even begin to understand."

"No," I stopped him suddenly. "I understand better than you think."

Sam looked at me expectantly, waiting for me to elaborate.

"You wanna know why I came to find Dean?"

He nodded.

"The night I met him, I had gone out to a bar by myself to have a few drinks and blow off some steam. I was playing pool when a couple of sharks tried to take me on. One of them actually tried to touch me but Dean stepped in and they backed off. Afterwards I bought him a drink to say thanks and we ended up talking until the bar was about to close. Dean and I said goodbye and when I got to my car one of the guys from the pool table was waiting for me, saying he was going to teach me a lesson."

Sam raised his eyebrows, no doubt anticipating the turn the story would take.

"He grabbed me and pushed up against my car. And I realized you really don't know fear until you've felt the full body weight of a grown man pinning you down against your will. I was screaming like a maniac and trying to fight but it was useless. Then all of sudden, someone pulled him off of me and I was able to run free. By the time Dean finished beating that bastard he was practically in a coma on the sidewalk. The bar owner eventually dragged Dean off him, called the police and had the guy arrested."

"Good," Sam muttered, eyes bright with indignation.

"Yeah," I agreed. "I still remember sitting there shivering on that curb outside the bar and Dean putting his leather jacket around me to keep me warm. When everything was over, I was too shaky to drive so he took me home. I asked him to stay because I was still so scared. He made me feel safe and I didn't want him to leave me. So he stayed, he slept on the couch, the first night."

Sam sniffed and looked away but not before I saw he was blushing.

"It wasn't just sex, Sam," I explained, although I was not in the habit of discussing my personal life with strangers. "Every time Dean held me I felt strength and safety; and that's why I came looking for him. You don't know fear until you realize that you're pregnant and alone, and I just wanted Dean to make me feel safe again."

"Lily, I won't presume to tell you what to do," Sam said sadly. "But I've heard enough stories about people who have abortions because they don't want to disrupt their lives or their careers, and then they regret it."

"And I've heard stories about people who give up their babies and regret it," I countered. "Face it, it's a lose, lose situation. I know I sound really selfish but it's not just me I'm thinking about. My parents are sacrificing so much to send me to college that I don't even wanna know what kind of debt they're in. They wouldn't even let me get a part-time job to help because they wanted me to just focus on my studies. If I become another pregnant dropout it's gonna be like a slap in their faces. They've given everything so I can have the chance to become a doctor because that's my dream. I can't repay their sacrifice by coming home with a baby and no degree."

"No one said anything about dropping out of school," Sam reasoned. "You would only have to take a few months off and then you can pick right up."

"But it's not just about school. Having a child is some pretty scary stuff. I want to be a mother but I want to do it when the time is right, and when I have a partner that can be there for me. I don't want to give birth in some backwoods place hiding out from everyone I know."

"So if you have the abortion do you plan to make a public announcement about it?"

"Hell no! I wouldn't tell a soul."

"So you're gonna have to hide anyway. At least my way some good can come out of all this."

"You're only making me more confused Sam," I shrugged helplessly. "I'm not a horrible person; I just don't know what to do."

"I understand how you feel," he said sincerely. "But in my heart I believe there's a way out of this with fewer regrets."

We were silent for a little while each contemplating our options, I suppose. I looked away from Sam not wanting to face his desperate stare; not to mention those pleading eyes that seemed to have a mysterious power to convince.

"I don't know what to do," I confessed.

"You don't have to decide now," Sam prepared to leave. "But promise me you'll think it through."

I nodded my agreement.

"I'll give you some space."

Sam opened the door to leave, but before departing he made a final appeal.

"I can promise one thing, Lily," he said and his voice was raspy with emotion. "If you give your child to me, he will have a father who will love him more than anything. He'll always feel safe, he'll always feel loved, and he'll never be afraid of anything because I will protect him with my life."

Overwhelmed, I sighed, swallowing back my tears. "That's a pretty tall order Sam," I whispered. "I don't think I know anyone who can love like that."

"You did," Sam insisted. "You knew my brother. That's how he loved me; and I won't be anything less for his child."

"You feel that way now because you're grieving for Dean. How are you going to feel a year from now?"

"The way I feel about my brother is never going to change," Sam said emphatically. "You talk about how much your parents have sacrificed for you, well Dean did all that and more for me and I never got a chance to pay him back. He took the whole big brother thing very seriously so he'd hardly ever let himself lean on me, or come to me for any kind of support. I loved him more than anything and I now all I wish is that I'd said it more."

"He must have known," I tried to offer some reassurance. "If you care for someone that much they can feel it."

"Maybe, but I should have told him more often. I shouldn't have let awkwardness get in the way. And now I won't ever have the chance to tell him again. But if I raise his child, I would never feel self-conscious or silly about showing my love or even expressing it. This is my chance to give back in a way I never got to give to Dean."

I was overwhelmed by the sheer force of his emotions. Sam's love for Dean was so vast and deep that it could encompass a child he'd never even met, simply because it was a part of his brother.

"This is not a decision I can make overnight," I pleaded. "I need time to think it through."

"I understand," he said opening the door. "But there's one more thing, Lily."

"What?"

"If you decide to have the baby, you wouldn't be alone; I'd be there with you. I can't replace Dean but I can support you through all of this."

Something strangely akin to hope stirred inside me. It was a sensation I hadn't felt in quite a while.

"I think that's the best option I've had since I found out I was pregnant," I admitted.

"Then consider it," Sam begged. "Please."

* * *

I went to bed that night confused about my choices but undeniably hopeful that there might be a way out of my dilemma that wouldn't end in hurt and disappointment. I woke up, in excruciating pain.

I felt as if an insane torture master had rammed a metal vice into my stomach and was turning the controls with unrelenting force. I screamed as my insides clenched in an agonizing rhythm, tearing through my womb leaving me weak and sore. My waning strength was just enough to move me to the side of the bed where I managed to lift my phone from the bedside table. Barely able to focus, I struggled to redial the last number I had called, Dean's.

It rang forever before Sam answered and I gasped incoherently into the handset, not having the mental fortitude to form actual words. With agony riddling my body, time lost all meaning but I was aware of a loud noise a while later and then Sam appeared by my bed. I later found out that he'd rushed to my motel and kicked off the door to get to me.

Even in my daze, it struck me that Sam was unbelievably calm considering what was happening. He didn't try to move me, but climbed onto the bed beside me and took my hand. I felt his huge fingers lace through mine; throwing me a lifeline in my sea of pain.

"It's OK Lily," he whispered, stroking my hair. "Help is on the way."

I could only gasp in response.

"Just try to breathe," Sam coaxed softly. "Just focus on my voice and try to breathe."

"It hurts," I muttered, shuddering as the torture master continued to turn to the vice.

"I know," Sam soothed. "But don't go to sleep. Just stay with me, it's gonna be OK."

There was another huge commotion when the paramedics arrived.

"OK what do we have here?" An authoritative female voice was asking.

"She's pregnant," I heard Sam explaining. "I think she might be miscarrying."

"OK boys let's get her up and out and we'll work on her on the way to City General."

I was swiftly transferred from the bed to a gurney, crying out as my hand was ripped from Sam's.

"Stay," I pleaded as they started to wheel me away.

"Are you the child's father?" the female voice demanded.

"Yes," I wailed before Sam could respond.

"Alright. You can ride in the ambulance with us."

The gurney was ferried outside and slotted into the back of the waiting vehicle. Remembering what Sam had said I fought to stay awake amidst the needle pricks, the beeping sounds and the instructions being shouted over my battered body.

Through it all I prayed silently, begging God to let me keep my baby.

* * *

Prayer works but in my case, the answer was no.

I woke up in a sterile hospital room to find Sam seated at my bedside with his face bowed in his hands.

When I tried to speak my voice sounded hoarse and my throat felt sore.

"Hey," Sam whispered, dragging his chair up closer to the bed.

"What happened?" I asked trying to sit up.

I sank back into the pillows when I felt the soreness below my waist. Whatever had happened was probably not good.

"Would you like some water?" Sam picked up a paper cup and filled it from a small plastic jug.

I sipped gingerly appreciating the coolness but grimacing as the liquid ignited my sore throat.

"Easy," Sam encouraged as he gently fed the water to me.

"What happened?"

Sam took the cup away and then seemed to brace himself to face me.

"You lost the baby," he said.

For the second time in two days, I felt the world spin around me.

Yesterday I was pregnant and today I wasn't. Yesterday I had the biggest decision of my life to make and now I'd lost the power to choose.

"Are you sure?" I asked like an idiot.

Sam nodded sadly.

"I'm sorry," he whispered taking my hands.

I snaked my fingers through his and squeezed.

"I'm sorry too."

My words were like a detonator, blasting through Sam's restraints. With a heaving gasp he released my eyes, covered his face and began to cry. The giant who just the day before had stood in front of me like an impenetrable barrier was cracking right before my eyes. You really don't know heartache until you watch a grown man break down.

It took all my strength but I pushed myself up and shifted to the edge of the bed so I could pull him towards me and hold on. I whispered calming words, stroked his hair soothingly and tried desperately to give him some form of comfort. When I realized my efforts were futile I decided the best thing I could do was just let him grieve.

I knew Sam's tears weren't only for the baby but for the brother whose love for him had been stronger than life. He was mourning the last thread of their bond that had been so cruelly ripped from his grasp. Helpless in the face of such devastating pain, I held Sam tightly and cried with him.

* * *

I was released from hospital the following day with orders to rest for a week. Numbness and fatigue robbed me of all my mental faculties, so Sam took over. In my condition, driving home was not an option so he took me back to the motel and got a room with two beds.

"You shouldn't be alone," he said when I'd looked at him questioningly.

I didn't say it, but I didn't think he should be either so that had been the end of the matter.

We spent the week together although most of the time I was sleeping. Within a few days I'd recovered my strength and was back on my feet and able to move around on my own. Sam, on the other hand, seemed to grow more withdrawn and silent as the time wore on. He gave me my space not saying a word about the proffered deal or the miscarriage that had voided all our options. I was overcome by an unexplainable mixture of regret and relief as I thought about the unique version of parenthood we had almost embarked on.

In the aftermath of losing my child I realized that I most likely would have gone along with Sam's plan. It was misguided at best and I have no clue how we would have gone about it, but at the same time there was no denying that it had given us both a sense of hope in an otherwise distressing abyss. But it was not to be, and when I considered all the complications that could have arisen from our well-meaning deception I couldn't help but think that the miscarriage may well have been for the best.

Sam, however, didn't appear to be nearly as accepting of the hand we'd been dealt. He had lost his last hold on his brother and that had given him an additional cause to grieve. He tried to put on a brave face but I could tell he was hurting badly. So after watch him silently for a few days I knew what I had to do.

On our last evening together I suggested we go for a drive.

"Where would you like to go?" he asked.

"There's a lake a few miles out," I said. "I saw it when I drove into town. I'd like to go there for sunset."

It was an extraordinarily peaceful evening and the two of us sat on a blanket looking out at the water. After an extended silence I began the parting speech I had been rehearsing for the last day and a half.

"Can I tell you something I've never told anyone outside my family?" I asked inviting eye contact for what I knew would be a difficult conversation.

"Sure," he said, holding my gaze.

"My best friend died when I was seventeen."

Sam winced audibly at the introduction of more tragedy.

"No listen," I said making sure he was still with me. "We'd gone out to a party and she and her boyfriend went off to what we called 'make-out mountain'. On the way, they got run off the hillside by a drunk driver."

"I'm sorry."

"I was in a stupor for weeks. I just couldn't get over it and the hardest thing was that I kept expecting her to turn up. If the phone rang, I thought she was calling; I kept going to her house expecting her to answer the door. I looked for her everywhere but I just couldn't find her."

"I know what that's like," Sam admitted. "When someone's an important part of your life, it's the hardest thing to let go."

"But I took it too far, Sam," I said pushing past the self-consciousness as I prepared to make my confession. "I know this is going to sound really weird, but I started to think maybe I could reach her wherever she was."

Sam's eyebrows rose sharply and his face reddened. I think I was starting to freak him out but he didn't say a word.

"I actually swiped my parents' bank card and stole money to pay a crazy so-called psychic who said she could talk to the dead."

Sam looked away, no doubt creeped out by my ridiculous admission.

"I know it sounds insane, but I was that desperate."

"So what happened?" Sam asked, looking out at the lake.

"The psychic was a rip-off and when my parents discovered the money was missing, the surveillance tape from the ATM showed that I was the culprit."

"That must have gone over really well."

"My parents confronted me about it and I told them the truth. I think at that point I was at the end of my rope. The day after the whole thing blew up my father took me out for a drive. We went to the seaside to watch the sunset and as the sun was going down he told me that life was full of endings and beginnings and when something was over, we had to learn to accept that, let it go and look for something else."

Sam breathed out deeply as if exhalation could expel his obvious pain.

Steeling myself to finish, I took his hand.

"It's sunset Sam," I whispered, tears welling up in my eyes. "It's the ending of one day, but that means that tomorrow a brand new day can begin. There's no better time than now to decide to let go."

"I can't," he argued pulling away.

"Yes, you can," I pressed, knowing he was at a crucial tipping point. "I know you loved your brother more than anything else but Dean's life is over and you need to let him go."

Sam covered his eyes, but made no real attempt to hide his tears. "You don't understand."

"I understand more than you think," I insisted gently. "And that's why I have to tell you that you need to move on."

"You expect me to just forget my brother?" Sam hissed angrily.

"No," I took his hand again. "You'll never forget the most important person in your life. But you need to find something or someone else that you can care about. You need to find a reason to live again."

"I thought I had found it," Sam wept. "And then I lost that too."

That was the last straw.

"Listen to me," I ordered, with more force than I thought I was capable off. "Even if I'd had the baby that wouldn't have brought Dean back. You'll never replace your brother so don't spend your life trying."

Unwilling to accept the advice, Sam pulled away from me once more. But that didn't faze me.

"If there was one thing I remember about Dean it's that he took on life with everything he had and something tells me that's what he'd expect you to do now. Don't let him down."

Sam didn't respond immediately. In fact, he sat in silence, staring out at the lake for quite some time. He watched as the sun slowly made its way down to the horizon, seemingly lingering to give him as much time as he needed to come to terms with saying his final goodbye. When the last reflections of daylight's glow disappeared he closed his eyes and whispered softly.

I never heard what he said; but once the words had been uttered he got to his feet.

"Let's go Lily," he said offering a hand to help me up. "It's time to move on."

* * *

We said goodbye the following morning in the motel car park. We exchanged emails and numbers and promised to check up on each other every once in a while. When I pulled out onto the road I deliberately didn't look back. As soon as I hit the highway, I dropped my foot on the gas and took off.

As I sped away from the past and rushed to the future I hoped, with all my heart, that Sam was doing the same. I hoped that I'd been able to convince him that life was still worth living. And I prayed he'd find a reason to move on even without his brother.

**THE END**

* * *

**Author's Note:** While I thoroughly enjoyed Season 8, they never did address the issue of Sam not looking for Dean while he was in Purgatory. This was my attempt to provide a plausible explanation.

**More to come … watch this space.**


	23. In Other Words

**I Wish I Was Your Brother**

**A/N:** This story took a very circuitous route to completion. Originally, I had the concept for a one shot in three parts. However, that story just couldnStorm WarningA Light at the End of the Tunnels POV and making it a part of this series and finally, I was able to get it done.

**A/N:** I want to thank all of you who follow this series and always encourage me to continue writing it. Your support is amazing.

**A/N:** Special thanks and much love to my beta Casy Dee!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own or profit from Supernatural or any of its characters but I have borrowed several lines from the story's dialogue.

* * *

**- TWENTY THREE -**

**In Other Words**

Someone once said that for brothers who were closer than twins, they never once heard Sam or Dean say I love you. The truth is they said it all the time but you had to listen carefully to hear it.

I'll admit I raised them to be tough and fearless and that didn't allow much time for either of them to get in touch with their softer side. On top of that, I wasn't overly demonstrative and I didn't figure my sons would come out particularly affectionate. However, the fire that took my wife changed my boys' lives forever. When I gave Sam to Dean and told him to run out of the house, it created a dynamic between them that few siblings will ever experience or understand.

That unspeakable tragedy helped to forge a bond so strong and so deep that nothing in heaven or on earth has been able to break it. So I'd say the feelings of love and loyalty between my sons may be a little more immeasurable than those famed three little words can express.

Apart from all that, my boys are far too masculine for those girlie utterances, and far too tough to come off like a couple of softies. But hey, feelings that strong have to be expressed one way or another. So over the years, I learned to recognize the ways they communicated the sentiment without actually saying the words.

Now to give credit where it's due, Mary's influence had a lot to do with the closeness between the boys. Dean had been the center of our lives from the day we knew we were going to be parents. Then by the time his mother got pregnant with Sammy, Dean had been so coddled and spoiled that Mary was worried that he would resent sharing our attention with a little brother. So from the start her strategy was to get Dean to feel that Sammy was his. She made him play with her stomach and talk to his little brother and she always said that once Sammy was born Dean would have the special responsibility of taking care of him because that's what big brothers did. The strategy was an unqualified success because once Mary was gone and I was too numb to play a nurturing role in either of my sons' lives, Dean stepped up to look after Sam.

The first time I heard Dean express his feeling to his little brother it was on a rainy night when Sam had woken up crying. When I was too slow to respond, Dean went to Sammy and picked him up while I stood back in the shadows. Dean rocked his baby brother gently, trying to soothe and quiet like he'd seen Mary do before she had been stolen from us. Then, he said the words that would define their relationship from that day forward.

"I'm here."

Whatever Sammy heard in those two words, it did the trick and he quieted down after that. Those words also resonated with me, leaving me wondering if Dean realised I couldn't give the unconditional, indulgent love Sammy needed and decided then to stand in the void even though he was just a kid himself.

Whatever happened the connection was made and reciprocity came before Sam could even speak. Then once he started to grasp words it was amazing to hear the things he said to his big brother. One evening shortly after he turned two he blew my mind. Dean was feeding him and doing his usual messy job of spooning up the baby food while Sammy waved delightedly in his high chair. Without warning Sam leaned forward and put both his hands on his brother's cheeks and brought his nose to rest squarely against Dean's.

"You!" Sammy squealed.

My eyes filled so fast that I had to walk away before either of my sons could see me cry. You see I was sitting right next to Dean observing to ensure that more of the food made it into Sammy's mouth than landed on his bib, yet it seemed like I was invisible to Sam. My youngest son stretched right over me to affirm his feelings for his brother and at that moment I knew he'd chosen where his first loyalties would lie.

From then on Sammy consistently made declarations to his big brother.

"_**You**_ make me better."

"I wanna be like _**you**_."

"**_You're_** my favourite person."

I admit, at first I felt a little resentful but as they grew older I realised how important it was for them to have each other. Sam needed his brother to cherish and care for him and having Sam need him brought meaning to Dean's life.

Dean's expressions weren't nearly as exuberant as Sam's but it was pretty easy to hear the meaning behind his words. He'd say "That's my boy", when he felt pride at any of Sammy's childhood achievements; or "you're pretty cool for a little geek," when he wanted to show fraternal appreciation. Yet what always gave Dean's feelings away were the things he said when Sam was in any kind of distress. That's when we heard, "I got you Sammy" or "Nothing's gonna happen to you as long as I'm around" or in cases of extreme distress, "tell me what's wrong and I'll fix it."

In the tricky teen years, we had all the arguments and fights common to kids that age. During that phase their way of speaking changed, but it wasn't difficult for me to decipher what was being said.

Sam was the expressive one who was always a little bolder about saying what he felt even if it bordered on being mushy. Prior to adolescence the words often flew out before he could stop them leaving me wondering when he would finally appreciate the control that every man needed to have over his emotions.

For quite a while it seemed Sammy would never grasp that, at least not when it came to his brother. As he grew older and began keeping a tighter rein on his feelings and affections he couldn't hold back when it came to Dean. I still have very vivid memories of when Dean had appendicitis and with typical Winchester luck the onset was sudden and excruciating.

I had rushed him to an emergency room with Sam in tow, and when all was said and done he was admitted to hospital with surgery scheduled for the first thing the next morning. From the moment Dean felt the first pains anxiety overcame Sam. Once Dean was tucked into his hospital bed and dosed up with painkillers, Sam sat by his side refusing to move. Hoping to keep the myth of big brother invincibility alive, Dean had tried to act tough.

"Wipe that worried look off your face before I get up and do it for you," he'd threatened.

"I'm not worried Dean," Sam shot back. "I'm freaking terrified."

"Terrified? God geek, you're more of a wimp than I thought."

"Call me whatever you like jerk, but if your big brother was as sick as you are you'd be terrified too."

Dean had been silenced by the admission; but he still tried to save face. "That doesn't make any sense," he said weakly.

"You wouldn't understand it because you're too dense. But if I lose you Dean, I swear to God..."

Sam's voice had cracked and he couldn't seem to find the words to continue. The next thing I heard was a loud sigh and Sam dropped his head and covered his face.

"Hey," Dean said, his own voice lilting with emotion, "Come on Sammy, it's just appendicitis; I'm gonna be OK."

"You better be," Sam chided, gradually recovering his composure. "You're an A one idiot and a pain in the butt but I don't know what I'd do without you."

The whole time they were arguing I had stood in the far corner of the room wondering if I would need to intervene. When I heard Sam's declaration I shrugged off the quarrel, understanding the meaning behind his words. From Dean's response, the message wasn't lost on him.

"I suspect there's a compliment somewhere in there," Dean said, relaxing the bravado enough to make a feeble attempt to ruffle Sammy's hair.

"Maybe," Sam conceded lowering his head to Dean's chest so his brother wouldn't have to stretch too far for contact.

The tumultuous teen years were marked by many such incidents. With all the testosterone in the atmosphere it had been particularly amusing to hear my rough and tumble oldest expressing various sentiments to his little brother. He had his catch phrases like "you're pretty cool for a nerd" or "you're not half bad geek boy," but in moments when Sam was feeling insecure or uncertain, the legendary Dean Winchester cool was set aside to provide whatever care, comfort or reassurance Sammy needed.

On one memorable occasion shortly after Sam turned thirteen, I had reprimanded and punished him and he actually complained to Dean that sometimes he wondered if I really loved him. He broached the conversation one night when we were staying at Pastor Jim's place and with the paper thin partition between the boys' room and mine, I heard every word that passed between them.

"Why the hell would you say that?" was Dean brusque response when Sam broached the issue of my feelings for him. "You know the deal Sammy, you step outta line, you get punished."

"But he always seems to be tougher on me than he is on you."

"That's because I've gotten smarter and I don't get caught as much."

"No, it's because you're his favorite."

"Dad doesn't have favorites. He's an equal opportunity butt-kicker when we mess up."

"You might feel that way Dean, but sometimes I feel like Dad would prefer if I wasn't here then it could just be you and him."

"Hey! _Look at me._ Don't you even think that Sam. We're a family. We stick together."

"Sure. So you and Dad can just -"

"Me and Dad nothing; our family doesn't work without you."

Dean's assertion seemed to cut right to the heart of the matter.

"I feel like all I ever do is disappoint him," Sam confessed.

"Hey come on, don't do that. Aw shucks Sammy, come here."

I was on my feet, ready to go to them to reassure Sam that nothing couldn't further from the truth. Then I stopped, knowing it would just be awkward and complicated if I added myself to the equation at such a critical moment. Dean would know exactly what to do to calm Sammy down.

There was a too long interlude of very quiet sobbing and muttering that I couldn't quite make out. Then Dean put an end to the matter.

"I know Dad can be tough Sammy. Heck, half the time I think he's gonna disown me for one thing or another but that's just his way. So get it out of your thick skull that this family could ever work without you. It never has and it never will."

That was just one of the many rites of passage talks that Dean had with Sam over the years. I know I left a lot up to Dean but he had a knack for getting through to his little brother in his quirky irreverent way.

One of the conversations that left an indelible impression on me was the pep talk Dean delivered after Sam had his first brush with heartache. I'd seen Sam moping around and given him the line about a lot more fish in the sea but that worked about as well as throwing water on an electrical fire. Finally when it seemed that Sammy meant to stay in his funk for an extended period, Dean jumped in.

We were at Bobby's and they were sitting down right outside Bobby's study. I was in the middle of a detailed entry in my journal when I got an earful of Sam pouring out his heart, and Dean picking up the pieces.

"You've been dragging yourself around here for the last week like your dog died; are you still licking your wounds because of whatshername?"

"Cindy," Sam had whispered, with a hint of awe that said this one had cut deep.

I could only shake my head at the angst of youth. I knew Cindy would be a distant memory in a few months' time but at this point it was still the end of the world for my youngest.

"We've been going out and I thought she was ready to get a bit more serious but the whole time she's been seeing me she's also been going out with a guy named Kyle Harrison."

"So she was two timing you?"

"Yeah, but now she wants to get serious with Kyle."

"OK so her taste sucks, her loss."

"It's not just that she didn't choose me it's who she blew me off for. Kyle's loaded and he drives a sports car."

"Don't take it personally Sammy, girls tend to get caught up with money and flash."

"If it was just that then it wouldn't be so bad."

"So what else was it?"

"When I called her on it and said she was just after his money she said she felt like he was more of a man than me. And this guy is known for just using girls at will and there's even talk that he hit some girl he was seeing once but none of that matters to Cindy."

"Hey bad boys are a turn-on for some girls."

"Maybe, but I think anyone who uses girls and hurts them is really lame. I told Cindy as much and that's when it got nasty."

"How so?"

"She pretty much accused me of being boring and immature. And she said I was the kind of guy a girl would want for a study partner but not a boyfriend."

"Well she's the one who sounds lame," Dean said and he seemed to think that should be enough to appease his brother.

Sammy, however, was just getting to the heart of the matter. "Dean, is that what girls really want? Do I have to be a jerk like Kyle to get someone like Cindy to like me?

"OK listen to me, the bad boy routine works for some chicks but girls who like jerks usually got a ton of issues that just complicate your life. So when you meet a woman like that just keep moving."

"Yeah sure and stay by myself."

"No you keep _being_ yourself and you'll find a girl who actually deserves someone like you."

"Which is what Dean, a nerd who can't even keep a girl interested?"

"O.K., let's get one thing straight. You're not like everybody else Sammy, you're different."

"I think that was Cindy's point."

"Cindy is an idiot. What makes you different is exactly what makes you special. And any girl who doesn't see that doesn't deserve to be with my little brother. And if you ever even think of changing who you are for any reason, I'm gonna beat you so bad you'll forget your first name."

Cindy's name never came up in any future conversations and I was more convinced than ever to leave Sam's growing pains issues to Dean.

In all of this, I don't want to sell Sammy short because as he got older he also learned to talk his brother down, that is, when Dean would let him. Often, when my oldest was dealing with something, his tendency was to shut himself off which was hurtful to Sam. The more Dean pushed him away in a crisis, the more stubborn Sammy became in his insistence that his brother let him in.

With the friction building, it was only a matter of time before a confrontation. The camel's back broke some time after Dean turned nineteen and he had his first experience with a civilian being severely injured on a hunt.

He and I were working a job which put us in the path of a vengeful spirit that refused to be subdued. Before it was over, the man whose property was haunted nearly lost his life and the precarious nature of the hunt meant we couldn't stick around for questions. So we'd dropped the victim off at the nearest emergency room and hightailed it before the cops showed up.

On the drive back to the motel, I let Dean have it about working sloppy. Truth is, I was reeling from how badly the hunt went and I came down on him much harder than he deserved. After blasting his head off, I'd gone and got Sammy and then we booked it out of town. I drove for a couple hours then dropped the boys off at a motel and told them to get two rooms.

After I drove around for about another hour, I came back knowing I needed to apologize to Dean. When I went to check on the boys, they weren't in their room so I went to look around the motel property. I saw them out back in what a sign said was the recreational area, which was clearly meant for daytime because it was barely lit.

They didn't see me approach, but when I began overhearing their conversation, I stood back in the shadows so I could listen in.

"You're doing it again," Sam was complaining.

"Doing what?" Dean asked. I heard the annoyance in his voice and figured he been trying to get his little brother to leave him alone.

"You're doing your big brother thing," Sam kept pressing. "You're acting like nothing's wrong and you're freezing me out."

"What the hell do you mean by that?"

"Dean, we took off in the dead of the night which usually means the hunt didn't go right. And the whole time we were driving I thought the tension between you and Dad was gonna choke me which usually means he's mad at you."

"Yeah so he is, damned if I care."

"You do Dean. Since Dad dumped us here you've been so agitated it's like you're gonna peel off your own skin. You only get like that when you're really hurt."

"Really hurt? What the hell do you think I am a ten year old girl?"

"You see that's it right there," Sam insisted. "You'd rather be a stupid jerk than just be honest with me."

"What do you want Sammy, a freaking confession?"

"Stop trying to blow me off, I'm worried about you. But you can never just let me do that, can you?"

"You want me to let you worry?"

"No that's not what I'm saying."

"Then what are you saying, dummy?"

"I'm saying you never let me help you!"

"Sam-"

"I know you're the big brother but you're not the only one who cares, Dean. I care too but it's like you don't want me to show it."

Even from the sidelines I could feel the discomfort in the air between them. I was worried that Dean would say something teasing or even dismissive to diffuse some of the awkwardness and shake Sam off his back.

I should have known better. Sure, Dean had his pride but he would never choose his ego at the expense of his little brother's feelings.

"Gosh Sammy, it's not like I think you don't care about me, I know you do."

"I don't just care about you Dean," Sam said and then paused like he needed to gather up his courage. "I ... I care about you more than I care about anyone else."

"Sammy-"

"Let me finish. You're always there for me when I need someone and I just want you to know I can be there too."

I could barely see them in the dark, make-shift park, but I could literally hear Dean relenting. There was no way he could stand up under his little brother's emotional assault.

"I know Sammy," Dean admitted and damn if his voice didn't sound a little wobbly. "I just don't know where to even start on this one."

"Just tell me what happened."

"I messed up the job and almost got someone killed. Dad was so angry I thought he was gonna take me apart with his bare hands."

"It's not your fault, Dean. Don't blame yourself."

"You don't even know what happened."

"I don't need to know. I watch you on hunts, your safety always comes last. If someone got hurt it's because there was nothing you could possibly do to protect them."

"That's not how Dad saw it."

"I don't care how Dad saw it. I know my big brother. And there's no one I feel safer with at any time. Whatever happened, I know you did your best to take care of everyone, because that's just who you are."

I walked away at that point, cut to the heart that my fifteen year old was the one supplying the affirmation I should have been giving to Dean. Yet again, I'd let my compulsions and obsessions come between me and one of my boys and then I'd left it to the other one to pick up the pieces.

By the time Sam and Dean were negotiating that tricky transition from adolescence into manhood, the conversations between them were sometimes unbearable to hear. All their lives their roles had been firmly established, Dean was the big brother protector, caregiver and most importantly, firmly in charge. Sam was the little brother, awestruck, adoring and most importantly compliant.

However, as Sam approached eighteen that began to change. He was constantly pushing back at his brother's commands with angry retorts and Dean reacted with increasing belligerence. A vicious cycle started as their words became harsh and hurtful and I broke up more fights - physical and verbal - than a bartender at a last chance saloon.

I started to worry because although fighting was nothing new I wasn't accustomed to them saying things to hurt one another. It had always been the two of them against everyone else and it cut me deep to think of them turning on each other.

One night, after I sent them on a hunt by themselves, I realised that I had underestimated the bond between my boys. Tension had been brewing between them all day but I'd told them to shake off the pettiness and go deal with a salt and burn. By the time they got back from the hunt it was clear they'd had a raging fight.

"You damn idiot," Dean was shouting when they walked into the motel room, "if you ever do that to me again, it'll be your last day on the planet."

Sam countered swiftly, "If you weren't so damn stubborn I wouldn't have had to make a move like that."

A nervous tension surged through my stomach on hearing the brief exchange. Had either of them done anything to put the other in danger? I knew they hadn't been getting along for a while but nothing should get in the way of their obligation to protect each other.

"What happened?" I asked, and to say I was apprehensive was an understatement.

"This idiot almost got himself killed," Dean informed me.

"Near misses can happen on hunts," I reasoned.

"No he did it deliberately," Dean fired back.

"What?" I turned to my youngest. "What happened?"

"Dean stepped right into the path of the damn the ghost-"

"Because it was heading straight for him," Dean ignored his brother's intervention and directed his retort to me.

Sam returned the favour, "If I hadn't come between him and the damn thing we'd be burning his body right now."

"OK both of you shut up," I ordered. "It sounds like you both did what you had to do to protect each other and you both got out alive so I'm considering this matter closed."

I said it with enough menace to think that would shut them up but each of them fired a parting shot.

"Get one thing straight," Dean practically snarled at his brother, "if you ever take that kind of risk with your life, I swear to hell I'll kill you myself."

Rather than flinch, Sam squared off with his brother. "And if you try to get in the way again when I'm saving your sorry life I'll kill you first."

Call me whatever you like, but I walked away from that reassured that even though they could barely stomach one another, my boys were still each other's top priority.

Now I'm not gonna talk about my deal. I had my reasons for making it which I really don't need to explain to anyone. Yet the transition from one realm to the next didn't erase my ever present need to know that my boys were OK. The one thing that gave me comfort was how they felt about each other. I knew that they would go beyond the ends of the earth to protect one another and that's the only thing that gave me the strength to leave them behind.

There wasn't much communication between my realm and theirs, and although I couldn't reach out to them in the way I would have liked once I'd moved on, I still listened. Whenever they were facing crisis, danger or distress, I took note of what they said to each other, examining each word to see if the bond between them was holding firm.

I was listening when Sam found out that Dean had made the deal with the crossroads demon. I could hear Sam's gratitude as much as his anguish at the thought of what his brother had done for him.

When Sam asked, "How long do you get?" and Dean said, "One year," I could feel Sam's pain. It was no wonder he told Dean he shouldn't have done it.

For me Dean's response was predictable. "I had to look out for you. That's my job!"

Then Sammy blew me away when he asked, "And what do you think my job is?"

Stunned, Dean could only say, "What?"

That's when Sammy said it. "You save my life! Over and over! Man, you sacrifice everything for me! Don't you think I'd do the same for you? You're my big brother. There's nothing I wouldn't do for you."

As time ran out on Dean I thought Sam was going to lose his mind. When he told Dean his desperate plan as the clock was ticking down my oldest, being resigned to his fate asked, "Why even risk it?"

"Because you're my brother," Sam said, his desperate insistence implying no explanation should be necessary. "Because you did the same thing for me."

"I know," Dean scoffed, more out of sadness than sarcasm, "and look how that turned out."

When Sam looked at him with anxious exasperation, Dean made his position clear. "Sammy ... you're my weak spot."

The unspoken message was as clear to me as I know it was to Sam. If Dean had it to do over, he would have made the same decision.

Following the disappointment of their brief glimpse of heaven and the unspeakable horror of their pains in hell, my sons' relationship changed in ways I couldn't fathom. Yet no matter how far they drifted from one another reconciliation was always just a matter of time. Even after their separation while Dean was in purgatory they managed to find common ground. So much so that when Dean was insisting on doing the three trials to close the gates of hell, Sam wouldn't allow it.

"I'm closing the gates," my youngest insisted, showing the strong man he had become. "It's a suicide mission for you."

The big brother in Dean wouldn't go down without a fight. When he pushed back, Sam countered with vulnerability rather than defiance.

"I want to slam hell shut, too, okay? But I want to survive it. I want to live, and so should you. You were right, okay? I see light at the end of this tunnel. And I'm sorry you don't, but it's there. And if you come with me, I can take you to it."

However, after putting his life on the line for his little brother so many times, Dean was still prepared to do it again.

"Sam, be smart."

"I AM smart, and so are you. I believe in you, Dean. So, please ... please believe in me, too."

We all know Dean gave in and the trials took Sam to the edge of his sanity. Then all hell broke loose in that church when Sam was just about close the gates of hell.

It was a disturbing sight to see my little boy suicidal with despair as he insisted, "People will die if I don't finish this!"

Desperate to talk him down, Dean made a frantic appeal. "We have enough knowledge on our side to turn the tide here," he said, "but I can't do it without you."

Sammy, however, was almost over the edge. "You can barely do it with me. I mean, you think I screw up everything I try."

When Dean denied his brother's tearful allegations, Sam made his emotional admission. "You want to know what I confessed?" he asked, "What my greatest sin was? It was how many times I let you down. I can't do that again."

"Sam-" Once again Dean tried to intervene, and once again he was cut off.

"What happens when you've decided I can't be trusted again?" Sam cried. "I mean, who are you gonna turn to next time instead of me? Another angel, another vampire? Do you have any idea what it feels like to watch your brother just-"

At that point it was Dean who did the cutting off. "Hold on," he insisted. "Hold on! You seriously think that? Because none of it is true."

And then, Dean made his own confession. "Don't you dare think that there is anything, past or present, that I would put in front of you!"

I considered that moment a turning point in my sons' relationship, a time when a marker was laid down and a line drawn in the sand. After that I figured they would be no more doubts and no more fears because now, they both knew they were each other's highest loyalty. Needless to say, I was blindsided by the devastating effect those trials had on Sam. Then with Sam's life hanging in balance Dean made another infamous Winchester Deal.

I'm not going to take sides on this one; I know Dean had his reasons for saving his brother's life just as Sam has his reasons for resenting the way Dean went about it. Yet watching them now incinerates my heart.

I wish I was there to tell them that when the rubber hits the road, all they really have is each other. More than that, I wish I was there to bring up all the times when the chips were down and they discovered that each other was all they really needed.

I wish I could get my boys to realise that the bond between them is what's brought them this far and neither of them will ever be totally whole without the other.

I wish I could remind them of all the promises they've made to each other and the vows they've kept even when it cost them their hearts, their lives and their souls.

More than anything I wish they would just talk. I long to hear one of those meaningful and memorable conversations where even when little is said, so much is implied. I want to hear words which tell me that there's so much more than just love between them. I wish they would remember they're so much more than just brothers.

**THE END**

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******There's more to come so I hope you'll keep reading ...**  



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